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Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.

Jessica Wilde

I chip and carve until I’m a corpse – a bone with no marrow, or a sparrow without wings, a vein without wings, a vein without blood, a puppet with no strings.
JESSICA WILDE

Blood Bone Death Myself Wings
Loving you is like breathing in freshly fallen snow-baptized mornings.
JESSICA WILDE

Breathe Love Morning Snow Yourself
Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.
JESSICA WILDE

Chaos Distant Memories Morning Welcome
Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.
JESSICA WILDE

Dance Eyes Intimate Light Moments Ourselves Secret
Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.
JESSICA WILDE

Brave Breathe Discover Expand Galaxy Myself Universe
I simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.
JESSICA WILDE

Fatigue Grief Hope Loss Possible Reach Simplicity
When rules don’t make sense, ask questions, break barriers, rise above it all.
JESSICA WILDE

Break Question Rise Rule
I hear your voice say my name and my soul melts slow, I’m a helpless mess.
JESSICA WILDE

Help Mess Myself Name Slow Soul Voice
Underneath the stars, the weight of living dissolves – releases, breathes, be.
JESSICA WILDE

Breathe Dissolve Live Release Stars Weight
And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.
JESSICA WILDE

Bright Different Shine Sun Time Warm World
Wouldn’t it be enchanting if pixie dust and fairy wings could fix all our broken dreams?
JESSICA WILDE

Break Dreams Enchant Ourselves Wings
Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.
JESSICA WILDE

Growth Home Journal Lost Mark Measurement Mom Myself Scars Wall
My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.
JESSICA WILDE

Alone Depression Mindset Myself Recognition
Today, cold seeps from my insides out, the frigid rain warm on my skin.
JESSICA WILDE

Cold Myself Rain Skin Warm
I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.
JESSICA WILDE

Agony Garden Growth Hope Myself Stone
You hold a piece of me I will never get back. Be even tender.
JESSICA WILDE

Hold Pieces Return Yourself

Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.

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Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.

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Popular Authors

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