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I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.

Stephanie Briar

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To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.
STEPHANIE BRIAR

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I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.
STEPHANIE BRIAR

Clothes Cry Ghost Myself Remember
You’re preserved inside of me; cadaversque. I both acquiesce and atrophy because of it.
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Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.
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In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.
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Stop accepting abstract noun love. Real love is always action verb.
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When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.
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Light finds you just as I once did: an accident that is no accident.
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Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.
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Let yourself go a little wild, a little rough around through the edges; the human spirit wasn’t meant for carefully-curated perfection.
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I erected cities with adoration on my tongue and you burnt mine down in the wake of your love.
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When you focus on directing your energy away from harm and toward healing, you feed the soul and starve the ego.
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The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.
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“Ashes”, we once thought, but the embers in our eyes might have bought us time.
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You are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.
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Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
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