i want a love that cherishes my gifts
yearns for me to wield them
longs to hear my words and
prays they’re the inspiration

i want a love that craves me
hopes to devour me, savor me
sink beneath me

woven into my dna
instinctual reciprocity
swimming up rivers of you
migratory patterns
an ancient calling

your name bellowed
from my belly
honey on my tongue
soothing my throat

i want a love borne of my being
soil and breath and sunlight

my marrow melded with
the ground ‘neath your toes
with your digits ‘twixt my curls
my arms like vines embrace
your earthly form

pollinator pleasures
twisted, tangled limbs
grafting new life
crafting a new genus
of love

this love exists
solely for me

it will find me

it is known
in my bones

as i howl at the full
piscean moon

listening for your
harmonious tones

we’ve been apart for almost 3 months now. the tears and mourning have stopped, mostly.

i was surprised that i didn’t cry at all beneath the falls. i expected my heart to ache as i tread the memories of us, the paths we followed, the heights we scaled, the streams we forged, the cascades we showered under. everything reminded me of you but nothing hurt. perhaps because i have finally healed, although the wounds are still fresh and a bit raw.

being without you no longer scrapes my insides out and makes me wish i’d done things differently. nothing causes regret to ring in my ears or scalding, radiating pangs of sadness. i have accepted our departure from the same road— truly knowing in my bones that this is the best thing that could have happened for both of us.

we are free. we are lucky to have had what we had.

i hope one day— if you don’t already— that you’ll feel that too and know that we could be close if you wanted to be.

what we shared was sacred. what i hold now is a treasured memory, a precious stone from the riverbed of our past— turned over in my palm again and again.

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i felt a presence lurking in the shadows beneath the trees, attempting to grab my hand. i was suspicious at every turn as we made our way to the bar; we’d been invited to a party after visiting an art gallery earlier that evening.

when we arrived, the party was dead. we’d just finished dinner and were all ready to pass out, but Lauren offered to buy me a beer. i bought it myself and chugged it. i was ready to go home. i felt predatory eyes waiting outside the bar, hoping to catch my gaze and take me into the night.

i popped my nighttime allergy meds as soon as we got home. i stripped down to my thong, laid on the couch beneath the fan, trying to get as cool as possible. i don’t remember much before drifting off to sleep, other than saying goodnight to my friends. i’d told them that my body had felt weird but nothing about the entity that i sensed accompanying us around the town square and at the bar. i didn’t want to scare them or for them to think that i was losing my mind.

between 1 and 3am, i stirred awake. someone was speaking to me. from the corners of my mind, in a voice that wasn’t mine, thoughts echoed that did not belong to me.

“don’t you want me here?”
”don’t you feel good when i’m around?”
”i’m here to protect you, to make you feel safe.”
”i’ve been here for a while, waiting for you to look my way.”

the voice came from something big and brawny and handsome; it was thick and smooth like expensive liqour. he asked if i wanted him to stay for more than just the night, now i could finally see and hear him. except i couldn’t— not totally. his voice and shape came through fuzzy, like something on the periphery of my senses. his edges were blurred and his voice sounded like it came through an old telephone.

i didn’t realize that he was more than just an apparition until i sat down to write this. i thought he was a hallucination brought on by the allergy meds and the espresso i drank after dinner.

as he continued to talk to me in the deep mexican midnight, i rolled off the couch and went to shower. i wanted him gone, off of me, out of my mind. cool water trickled from my scalp to the stone floor as he chanted wordessly from the other room, slowly realizing that i wasn’t listening to him. i forgot he was there.

//

i didn’t know what he was saying or how long he continued to speak.

how long had he been following me; been with me?

had it been since january? since the breakup?

did he enter as she left or was he the reason that she did? when did he realize that i could hear him; that he had an influence on me and the way i moved through the world?

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do you wish it had been you
on the dance floor
your shoulder that i bit into, softly
our bed that we made

do you miss me at all
the warmth of my heart
my soft touch on your arm
my kiss on your neck

i do
miss it
miss you

but those days are gone
my kiss knows no master
my warmth knows no home
my touch longs to find one
who won’t recoil

i dance on
a foundation of my own making
a beat thumping in my soles
a welcoming haze swirling ‘round me
a dawn breaking in my heart

i won’t stop missing you
but i’ve come home to myself
i still love you
but i love me more

my friend stepped off the dance floor
to get us some water
i remained, step-touching to a
truly boring, emotionless house beat

you asked to dance with me
flashing a bright white grin
i acquiesced, asked your name
i told you mine and you slipped
an arm around me

we chatted for a while before
our smiles collided
wearing a sunshine yellow swim thong,
i leaned into you as we began
matching rhythms

soon one of your fingers slipped
into the back of my thong, then
an entire hand
i wrapped one arm around your neck
our tongues twisting round each other

i laughed as your glasses fogged up
you laughed too, said
well how could they not—
you’re so hot
you’re show-stopping
i cautioned you not to say all that
you said it was true

our hips ground together
your hand slipped
into the front of my speedo
i lost track of how long
my tongue in your mouth
again and again
your lips tasted faintly of cigarettes
i think
but i didn’t care

i’m smoking this summer
and i came here to kiss boys

i take a drag of you
you pull my speedo beneath my cheeks
palming both the left and the right and
squeeze me into you

you’re a pisces sun, aquarius mooon,
cancer rising
i tease you
i can’t escape pisces
my last girlfriend, the boyfriend before that
both pisces, both broke my heart
that doesn’t stop us from grabbing,
twisting, writhing, show-stopping

we take a break
take a breather
take a loop and
find the friends that
we each came with
making sure our girls are
safe and sound

we return to the dance floor
for another round

we exchange numbers
sweaty and smiling
you say to me
let me know how you feel about me
in the morning— in the light of day

once i’m home in bed, i text you
confess that i’d barely had anything to drink
and was completely sound of mind

maybe i’ll kiss you again
spark your smile once more

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i dance at the feet of god
in the sun

bare as can be
my soul on display
my soles on the floor

solar

grounded
rooted

heatwave
burns in my belly but not on
my skin

i am a flame in the

solar wind

burning them

soul on fire
sunlight
spreads from my
core

a burgeoning

burning

summer
solstice

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on a day where feeling safest should mean
i’m free to be outside with all my tattoos showing
whistle blowing
i’m here i’m here
i’m queer
i’m proud to be
un american

my home isn’t free
nor does it house the brave

cowardly faux servants
of their citizens
sit atop the colonizers’
totem pole

mean, terrible,
horrific faces
spitting
down onto their
unlawful subjects
calling it rain
knowing it’s tainted

manufactured outside this
country
by hands not allowed to
roam freely or safely
within the confines of this
regime

manufactured inside this country
paid for by our taxes for jobs
we shouldn’t have to be working
especially as working fuels
the economy of war

war criminals run
amok, run
this country
into the ground
hunting for more oil
reserves
digging us deeper to the
core of the earth
carving out our humanity

calling it progress
calling it necessary

water depletes as it
runs through the streets of
Brooklyn during a heatwave

tears stream down the streets
blood runs hot in Gaza
in the hearts of its citizens
onto the streets of the dirt
israel has made of their homes

calling it a
birthright

sounds familiar
doesn’t it?
divine prophecy
or some bullshit
phrase made to excuse a
genocide

erasing a people in the
name of god

a dog at the foot of its
master

genocide

you can’t spell

genocide

without
g o d

in His name you
call out and justify
inhumanity

a humanity
made in his image

you feign
consent of a god whose name
you cannot utter

lest ye be struck down
as you do a people native to
their land

sound familiar?

this land was made for you
and me

an open invitation
— or so you believe

lies between your teeth
your tongue bleeding
from being bit down
in false prayer

hollow words
to a god you can’t possibly know

your lies are
unbelievable

escaped your
god’s gaze for so long he could not see

Gaza burning

in his name
whose name you do not
know

lest ye be seen as a
liar
false prophet
empty lies spill
from your lips

to god’s feet as he doesn’t
recognize your face or your
voice

your right to exist
fading into the rain as it falls over
the soil
made new

a flooding
erasing you

from memory

a fossilization
of your history

imprinted and
impactful

but gone
present but

gone

we dance on the graves of
colonizers’ past

a celebratory hum

resonates ‘cross the world
a freedom rings

to God’s ears

victory and
free at last

who is to thank
a god or

his people who
served at his feet
and never forgot

his name
amen

almighty

they utter
his name

constantly
daily with the sun
as ritual

a divine right
a prayer

america
the beautiful

sung out again
in earnest
honestly

a gift to god

once more

then may we celebrate
repenting

till forgiveness
is granted

once more

if you’re reading this and read the above pieces and would like early access to my manuscript to then deliver feedback, let me know! I would like to get as many eyes on this as possible before submitting at the end of this month. paid subscribers who read my revised manuscript will be thanked in the final draft :)<3

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[Lauren, another friend, and i are renting a studio space— a huge step in our creative success— and i am over the moon excited about it]

my corner will be green and yellow, maybe with some orange and blue. i’ll choose one Pokémon card, Umbreon, to keep watch over our space. my tiny glass of shells will live there along with my list of happiness touchstones. my film must move someplace safe and cool… i’ll need a comfy chair, a desk chair, and a desk to work at… it’s happening. it’s happening. i am building the world i want. community care and creativity are blazing a necessary trail through my life. i’m winning. i’m inspired. i am at the helm of my ship and calling the shots. finally. I can breathe again. i am so proud of myself. i am doing it. i believe in this; in myself. i cannot be stopped. i will not stop myself. [i am in love with my life.]

june 16, 2026 9:38am — morning pages 196

dang. i thought i was closer to 200. i can reach that by this weekend…

i’ve stopped compartmentalizing my multitudes. they are all on display. the top and sides of my head are shaved while the length in the back remains. a friend told me i look deific, and i feel it. [my dad told me that i am both handsome and pretty, and i feel it.] my poetry has been foreshadowing my expansion for years. i feel like a volcano that has been dormant for a while. the locals believed i’d gone to sleep for good.

but then, rumblings. a hiss of pressure releasing. no top blown off, no horrific smoke plume choking the air. but a slow, steady, scorching flow has begun. burning down all that must go; that which no longer serves me. soon that flow will slow and the earth and those around me will be nourished and begin to thrive anew. it’s already happening.

Lauren and Micala and i are renting a studio space to invest in Lovely Day and our communities and our creative endeavors. it’s a huge step but it all feels in alignment with what we want. i think this is only going to create more momentum and opportunity. i submitted poems to a contest on the fourteenth and plan to submit another by the thirtieth. July is around the corner, and i will need to finish my revisions of my manuscript soon to get it in front of readers before submitting it. i will not be distracted from my success. the most wonderful things are coming.

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i’m sorry for the days i said that he wasn’t my cat. he was mine the day i was yours. and now that i’m no longer yours, i must part ways with him. it has meant so much to bond with him and develop an unspoken knowing between us. he knows exactly what to do to wake me up so he can be fed at 3am. i know that after he eats in the morning, once i’m up for the day, he’ll want to be close to me— on the couch making biscuits on a blanket or on the back of my dining room chair while i’m eating or on the kitchen floor watching me make my breakfast. and if i’m too busy with breakfast or doing the dishes, he’ll jump onto the counter, then to the top of the refrigerator, and he’ll squeeze his way into the cabinet above it, settling into his “apartment” for a nap.

i’ll miss his soft tummy and bad breath and his little vampire teeth and the way he bites my ankles when i’m taking too long to feed him and his demand that i sit on the floor and say hi to him after a long day at work.

i’m going to miss my first cat.

i love you, Beans. so much.

may 27, 2026 — morning pages 191

i feel a greater sense of confidence and what i want than i ever have before. i am experiencing a great wave of self-knowing. i love my body more than i ever have. i will be okay. i am heading toward greatness. i am dedicated to my success. i will continue to listen and write when inspiration strikes. i will follow through on my plans to submit poems and manuscripts and applications for retreats. i believe in myself. i don’t need anyone but me, my friends, and the people that love me. great things are coming my way.

continue building your confidence, Ev.

— - ——— — —— —— - ——— — ——

what elicits the utterance
home, sweet home?

may 23, 2026 — morning pages 190

i am on the couch with Beans on my left knee, my other leg outstretched , and Howl just laid himself on the middle cushion on the back of the couch. which is precisely where i’d put my journal down to write. now i’m propping it up in the crook of my elbow with my neck crooked to the left, chin on my shoulder. i’m lucky to have them both here. i’m happy.

may 22, 2026 — morning pages 189

i want to smash my phone so bad. it’s a distraction and a bad news delivery service. it keeps me connected to my loved ones and to the rest of the world that is actively being ripped apart. i almost wrote, “falling apart",” but it is not its own doing that causes the disintegration. i’m here in my living room deciding what i’ll do today— submit poetry, clean the stovetop, weed the garden.

Ahmed Sarsour, a Palestinian and Sudanese poet living in Gaza, asks me how I'm doing; what i’m working on. he tells me he’s been depressed lately. i think of my poetry capturing the beauty of the world, of living; listing reasons to stay alive. i think of Ahmed’s poetry: his first-hand accounts of the atrocities taking place, demanding his audience listen to him; listing the ways israel attempts to eliminate life and how the u.s. facilitates that.

i wish Ahmed could write poetry like mine. i wish he could write about how much he loves the sun and the sky, about flowers and gardening and love. but even if those things are true, he must write about what keeps him from those topics— bombardment, starvation, the flagrant lies from the u.s. government.

i want to smash my phone but i have to talk to Ahmed. he needs to know that people are listening to him and that they care about him and his family and friends. as much as i hate “bad news,” i must bear witness to what is taking place so that I know what to stand and move against. i want to show Ahmed that somebody cares that he’s still alive and trying to help his loved ones. at least my phone can help me do that. it remains un-smashed, for now.

[i had the honor of attending a live reading of Ahmed’s work at my local film lab recently and was moved to tears listening and reading along to his words. it is so important to remember that the people of Palestinian are more than just people whose suffering is broadcast across the internet. they are poets and siblings and parents and dreamers. they want to do more than just survive. they want to live.

apart from writing poetry, Ahmed also strives to support family and friends struggling in Gaza. if you’re interested in helping him to do so, you can check out Project Sarsour. you can also find him on instagram at ahmed.hsarsour.]

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12. my heart beating in my chest, signaling life— another year feeling, being.

11. dandelion wishes for success and 3 four-leaf clovers set into my mini flower press— another perfect gift.

10. no serious rainfall on my birthday. the sky held its tears so i could save mine, too.

9. a big cat named buster in a bookstore and smiles from kind strangers.

8. irises and daises and azaleas and foxglove and flowering trees and tulips and poppies.

7. several free meals. i am grateful for a full belly and a fuller heart.

6. Howl waking me up early so that i’ll make room for him on my bedside so we can cuddle.

5. running into a friend who says my hugs still feel the same as ten years ago.

4. reading my poetry to a room full of strangers for the first time; hearing a pleasant, elongated, “mmm,” as my words resonate with someone i’ve never met.

3. reading my poetry out loud to my parents and some of my dearest friends; seeing their smiles and tears reflecting my own.

2. my chest rising and falling. i am so lucky to feel, to breathe, to be alive.

1. more pens to write with and another journal to fill. i am crafting a new future for myself.

a few bonus luck points:

* a booth so full of people who love me that we’re spilling onto tables that aren’t meant to be sat on and squeezing to see how many people we can fit so no one has to stand.

* being embraced with sweetness again and again and again.

* my two legs that carry me through this life. i am moving forward with grace and aplomb.

Monday love doesn’t saunter through the park or sleep in ‘til noon

Monday love is a little messy; it isn’t perfect

Monday love forgets to take out the trash like you asked
but surprises you with ice cream to sweeten a sour day

Monday love didn’t sleep well the night before
but wakes up to make you breakfast so you can get to work on time

and

Monday love listens to the beginning of your workweek,
however perfect or painful it might’ve been

Monday love kisses your forehead before you walk out the door,
then again when you walk back in

Monday love makes whatever you’d like for dinner and sometimes
caves to the idea of ordering for the umpteenth time
when you both agreed you’d order less often

Monday love may make mistakes,
but you’re willing to forgive
because it makes all your days marvelous

Monday love makes you more grateful for Sunday love
and Wednesday love and Friday love

Monday love assures you that whatever the day brings,
love awaits you with whatever you need

i’m not sure when the spell
broke
but today we’re making breakfast
together
music in the background
the cats circle us
sit with us at the table

almost like
the old days
almost like
a year ago

we move to the living room
coffees on the table
dirty dishes in the sink
like we used to do

we discuss the end

cancelling services
dividing belongings
what goes where
and with whom

we move to the basement
lie on separate piles of clothing
look up at yellowish, soon-to-fall
stars
shall i make a wish on their final glow
in the dark?

i suddenly remember
the lock of hair
tucked in a tin
behind a stack of books
your spell

you’d put a spell on me
and i was yours
i gave a piece of me
at your request
no questions asked
you’d already had the rest of me

today i take it back
your spell
four months broken
our familiars
join us on the mattress
we cry together
a communion with our
separation

the stars charging
above us
above us

we take turns
in tears
the task is done
until the next one
the impending
ending

music plays
i do the dishes
like the old days
again

you leave for work
i sit down to write

casting new spells
remembering
feeling

i brush Howl
he sits knowingly
a familiar ritual
we tuck a tuft of him
into the tin

you will not forget us

life has been feeling… difficult and a tad stale these days. i’ve seen a lot of cloudy days, the temperature hasn’t been consistent, waves of grief have been pummeling me since January, and depressive patterns have crept back into my regular routine. i’m tired. i lack motivation to do more than the basics (eating, sleeping, going to work, not crying anytime something remotely inconvenient happens to me or i scroll past more reasons to hate the world). and i won’t ask for help because who isn’t going through the same thing right now?

but the weather this week is leveling out, and last week, at least one cool thing happened to me. and every day offers me at least one lovely reminder that being alive— living, breathing, witnessing— can be pretty wonderful.

1. springtime brings good things (feelings, plants, sunshine) back
2. watching new green things emerge from my garden every year
3. that i am able to process grief while experiencing joy and gratitude
4. grief’s power of bringing people closer together
5. knowing that i can make myself lemonade whenever i want

april 28, 2026 — morning pages 179

i’m up before eight AM having my first coffee as i write from the couch so Beans can be close to me. he and Howl were not helpful in my efforts to get a solid night’s sleep. they were chasing each other around the basement at one in the morning, and Howl wouldn’t stop whining and trying to snuggle thirty minutes before my alarm was set to sound. i am not complaining, to be clear. i’m simply recounting my night; i was annoyed at the time.

i only have one full month left of Beans’ idiosyncrasies and am determined to savor every moment. i love knowing how he works. i love that when i get home, he’ll cry until i sit on the floor to greet and pet him. i love that when i go to bed at night, he will settle into one of two places: next to me in little spoon position so that i can rub his belly until i fall asleep or between my legs where he’ll just go to sleep for a least a few hours. (i’ve learned that i have trouble falling asleep without him.) i love that i’m writing this from the couch because i knew he’d want to sit next to me after finishing second breakfast. (i even love sitting up watching him between 2 and 5 in the morning to feed the boys breakfast and make sure Howl doesn’t try to steal Beans’ food.)

i once claimed that Beans wasn’t my cat. at the time, he wasn’t, but it made Cammie upset to hear. but now he is my cat, as well as hers, and i am heartbroken at the thought of not seeing him everyday; not having him curled up next to me at night. the worst part is that he won’t know until it’s happened. and he won’t understand why. and neither will Howl. one day, Beans won’t be here, and Howl and I will have to learn what that means together.

that’s when the next chapter, or rather, the next book will begin. we’re still in the afterward of our current story, where things are relatively normal for the boys and i am dreading my future feelings of the actual end.

it’s difficult now; the word “ex” feels wrong in my mouth when i say it. it feels like drawing a red X over her every time and it feels harsh. and don’t get me wrong— i’ve accepted the end of past dynamics and that this is what’s best for both of us. but it still hurts. moving into month five of this way of being together but separate still hurts. but i think it’s nothing compared to how move-out day will feel.

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— ——— - - ———— —

april 9, 2026

i haven’t written any morning pages since my last day at the retreat, but so much has happened since then. i’ve been to a poetry reading at my local film lab; the person performing the reading was Ahmed Sarsour— a Palestinian/Sudanese poet living in Gaza. i’ve created new and meaningful connections with some wonderful people in the midst of feeling extremely isolated and alone and lost. i’ve gone out dancing. i’ve rekindled connections with old friends and have followed through on plans made less than a week in advance.

i’ve also lost my grandfather. i thought i might get to see him one more time before his life ended, but he couldn’t wait any longer to reunite with my grandmother. i get it. but i am terribly sad. i missed his last phone call while i was in Texas and didn’t return it.

he was probably calling to make sure i’d safely made it there and to ask how i was doing.

i would have thanked him for calling and told him i was safe and how nice and warm it was there. he might’ve told me about a time he’d been to Texas. in all the traveling he’d done in the past, i’m not sure if Texas was one of the states he’d visited. he might’ve made a joke involving wordplay or something else clever; his sense of humor was the best. i might’ve told him about all the birds i’d been watching and listening to; the pelican with the bum wing that was there when i arrived and came by at least once every day—

i should’ve called to see if someone could come and help him. i should have called my grandfather back. i should have been at my grandmother’s funeral two summers ago.

i’ve been thinking a lot about love and connection and community— consumed by the thought of them, actually. my grandfather was an amazing example of all those things. he wasn’t the most emotional guy, which made it tough to really connect with him; he didn’t seem to like when the focus was on him. he’d rather hear about what you’ve got going on or tell a story about places he’d been or things he’d done when he was younger. but boy, did he know how to take care of his people. he was always going somewhere to help someone or was working around the house to make things better or, if he was actually sitting still, looking on and smiling at those he loved having a good time.

i’m going to miss him. the greatest thing we had in common was how much we loved my grandmother. and without him, it does feel like another piece of her is gone. but i am grateful that he’s no longer in physical pain and that his wait to be with the love of his life again is over.

as i write this, tears tracing tracks through my facial moisturizer, i am comforted in knowing that i inherited some of my best qualities from the two of them. the well of love inside me is damn near endless. i will never leave or arrive without giving a hug, just like my grandmother. i am happiest in a room full of people i love having a good time, just like my grandfather. and, just like both of them, i will always try my hardest to help— putting all my skills and care on the table to try to improve the quality of others’ lives.

i have been so lucky to know and love both my grandparents and am luckier still to know that they are still with me.

march 29, 2026

morning pages 172 — 8:42am

the birds began heralding the day at 6:52am, approximately nineteen minutes before the sun’s scheduled appearance. the sky had already reached its pastel and grey phase, preparing to be set ablaze. before the burning begins, Nikki and Brandon arrive to join in on my salutation. Nikki asks how i’m doing… the night before, i met a motion sickness that made a stranger of my body… i had to spend the evening tending to my hunched over mind, patting it gently, whispering that it’d be over by morning. and here we are, weeding out the sick while the day breaks gently over my shoulders, pressing gently into my sore spots, and kisses my eyelids. the breeze eases my worries; whispers, “here we are, together again.”

i hope the folks i’ve met here become a part of my life for a while. i hope the sun will rise over this cohort again, maybe next time soundtracked by different birds. i hope i let this experience energize me.

session 5 brain drain

i think what’s so scary about letting my work be seen is that it does show the most honest parts of me. it’s not performed; it’s not packaged with an audience in mind. it’s just true. and i’m afraid that if it is not received well, i will internalize a message of not being good enough. and i know that’s not true.

(putting things in writing make them more real. they’re not just intangible, nebulous thoughts anymore. and letting others hold real part of me in their hands or perceiving those parts of me makes me nervous. there is a lack of trust and a fear of being misunderstood.)

session 5, prompt 2

dust and dirt from
the concrete
makes a home
in the soles of my feet
an unintended souvenir
that’ll be gifted to
my socks, then washed
away in days

pressure pushes behind
my eyes
daring them to close
remnants from a night
spoiled by sick
orange spittle
splashed onto my jeans
that which can also be
washed away

when i’ve cleansed myself
of the things that make me
sorry
what’s left?
what remains when i
release regret?

march 28, 2026

morning pages 171, 8:07am

i awoke at 6:12 and waited for my 6:30 alarm. i checked my story views, scrolled past more bad news, [refreshed my email a few times]. my alarm sounded, i quickly silenced it, and groaned out of bed. i swapped my shorts for a different pair, secured my bandana on my head, brushed my teeth, collected my hoodie, camera bag, phone, pen, and journal, and stepped out of the house. as i padded out onto the road, i was greeted by the pre-dawn, dark-rainbow sky— its subtle light making silhouettes of the stilted houses and palm trees of this little seaside Texas neighborhood.

i hustle to the boardwalk watch the horizon change colors while the sun makes its ascent. i make secret, silent guesses as to where the sun might peek out and greet me until i’m certain i’ve spotted it. its halo pushes up past the edge of the sea, pinking and oranging the atmosphere, and the perfectly round, ruby-red globe bubbles up through the lavender lava lamp sky. day breaks along with my smile, and I start a scavenger hunt for sea treasures, scouting for soft, shiny, and spiral offerings from the ocean. my day has begun. i’ve risen to meet the sun again.

— — ——— - ————

i’ve risen to meet the sun
again
i awoke in the dark
so i could watch
as it yawned over the
horizon
stretching its rays
upward and outward
greeting me frist
with a beaming smile
then a tender embrace

session 4 brain drain

intimacy by way of spelunking into the deepest parts of your soul; in the exploratory curiosity of you. when i’ve finally reached your altar, i bend a knee, bow my head, receive your blessing. and i reach a hand out to know what it’s like to feel that sacred place.

session 4, prompt 1

the sun scoops me up in its arms; a solar flare spreads outward from my center. two celestial bodies burn and ache with knowing and unknowing. admired from afar, worshipped for generous warmth, knowing no nearby match. it is difficult for to suns to orbit each other, much less for them to collide.

fearsome gravity. generative heat.

how do you keep from searing the skin of another? can you ever ensure the reflection of your fervor? how long can you burn before collapse? will you be anointed before knowing your end?

my arm hair stands on end. the sea sprays my bare skin and i shiver at its indifference. i bristle as the sun sets me down and continues its ascent. i return to my earthly pleasures— my camera that flashes proof of our overlap; my pen determined to write the answers to our questions.

session 3 brain drain

i want to live inside the light of every passing second. i want to capture the world through my lens and show its other inhabitants what they’re missing. did you see that magnificent bird swoop over the canal? do you feel the wind and the sun collaborating on the temperature that touches your skin?

session 3, prompts 1-3

the sun has kissed me so many times, and today is the day i return its affection. i tuck my treasures into the pockets of my jacket and unzip it. I excavate a small half sphere of sand and lay my jacket inside, then tuck my journal and camera bag inside; re-zip my jacket.

i ask the shoreline flora to keep watch over my trove and turn to face the receding surf. I make a deal with the ocean: “today i am weightless; i will not sink below your waves but dance across your surface. i have a date with the sun, and you will help me get there.”

as we reach our accord, i look out to see the sun has paused its divine ritual of ascension to invite my exaltation. i step forward gently, reverently— testing the terms of my maritime treaty. my tip toeing is met with a firm and steady trust. i will not sink.

i spring forward. seas breeze infuses my muscles with Poseidon’s strength and sea legs reach a new wave of realization. i race toward the radiant orb resting over the horizon as anticipation of our communion mounts.

i reach our meeting place and press my lips to the sun’s surface; thank it for its love and its life-force and its light.

march 27, 2026

morning pages 170, 7:15am

today is going to be awesome. it is the first full day of the writing retreat; i woke up to catch the sunrise but missed both the sun breaking the horizon and the opportunity to watch from the beach. you can’t see the sun rising super well from the deck, but wow, what a gift to wake up here. i hope to absorb some good energy from my experience here. so far i’m loving listening to and watching the birds. this morning the grackles are particularly vocal; i just saw a great blue heron fly over the house. there was a pelican with an injured wing hanging around when i first arrived yesterday. i looked up what kind of ducks i’ve been watching, with bright orange beaks that match their feet and the sweetest peeping sound.

session 2 brain drain

my zest for life has always bubbled beneath the surface, like the tiny bubbles at the McDonald’s in Norwich— did they ever turn them off at night? i loved to move, to smile, to laugh and make others laugh. early on, i think i felt some responsibility for the happiness of others. no one taught it to me. i think i just loved the feeling of supplying others with joy.

session 1 brain drain

there is an art to living, to breathing, to casting your light into the world. how disappointing is it to not share that with the world and teach others the power that they hold? i did have some excellent teachers in my lineage, whose light shone on me and now live in my veins.

there is an art to sharing your love and watching it transform others. i will take the torch passed to me and light others’ flames before my own is extinguished.

session 1, prompt 2

i’ve inherited a zest for life, a compulsion for truth-telling, and immortal loving. none of these things can be erased. but they can be shamed into silence. all of these aspects are housed beneath my skin, woven into my DNA, inexorable functions my soul. they flex like a muscle but can atrophy like one as well— can waste away; languishing if unexercised.

i sit down at a table with the matriarchs who birthed those soft and bright parts of me; their warm smiles unwavering, unyielding. they wait for me to speak as they have done their talking. [my grandfather sits at the table now, too, holding my grandmothers hand.] their final words were spoken long ago; [some] of them not uttered as long ago as the others. i know the questions in their smiles.

what are you afraid of? rejection; being misunderstood.

whose permission are you waiting for? my own, i suppose. but i don’t know why i won’t give it.

how much longer will you wait to share those integral parts of you, that we left to you? i can’t wait much longer because it feels like holding my breath, and i don’t want to die.

that’s it. there it is. those pieces of me are not just a muscle to be exercised; to be toned or grown. they are the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins and the sun on my skin. they are cyclical, reciprocal, symbiotic.

these qualities sustain me as i bear them. they are undeniable and nearly unstoppable. to deny them is to deny myself breath.

i must make the art of living my paramount priority. my heart beats its demand upon my temples. a smile spreads across my face in turn as i vow to honor their gifts to me.

march 26, 2026

avian eavesdropping

cackling and chattering
echoed
exchanged
a sharp, sudden alarm
sounded thrice
bright, cheery peeping
from mandarin beaks
a silent formation
swoops into view
then
chittering and tittering
issued invisibly
between the palms
a repetitious squawk
like a chant
or perhaps a jeer
overheard from
overhead

april 9, 2026

since my return from Texas, as people have asked how it went, i’ve told them that it didn’t produce my most outstanding writing ever. but after having written it all out, i don’t know that i’ve been telling the truth.

clearly, my love for the sun and the sky still resonate as much as it did in my first self-produced zine. but my abilities to convey longing and reverence for the natural world and feeling have certainly grown and show themselves in the text above. and the words would never have been possible if i hadn’t gotten to the airport at 6:40am on March 26 and awaited the flight that would take me to this special group of people.

(and i wouldn’t have known about the opportunity if it weren’t for Mariah, whom i met by connecting with my local and online queer communities. thank you, Mariah <3)

so i take it back. i am extremely proud of the work that issued forth from my pen. and i am profoundly grateful for the space provided and created by the group of folks pictured above— plus Emily (special thanks for being my car buddy on the night i got sick).

i can’t wait for Wild Geese retreat number two, wherever and whenever that may be.

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today is my lucky day. for me, this is an affirmation, a reminder, a manifestation, and a plea all at once. i save it for a day associated with bad luck and superstition but i should probably adopt it as a daily mantra.

i am lucky. good things want to happen to me. the love i give out unabashedly comes back to me tenfold.

perhaps luck has nothing to do with it. i deserve the good things that come my way— another thought that deserves to be thought regularly.

i am as bright as i believe myself to be, whether it is recognized consistently or not. others’ preoccupation with their woes and those of the world do not detract from the fact that they love me or that i love them.

it is hard to love the world and to love myself in all the ways that i want in a balanced way. i have had some really low days recently and have found it hard to ask for help because i don’t know what kind of help i need. i am inclined to suffer in silence because i feel that my suffering is manageable and menial in the grand design.

this is not a cry for help. maybe it’s a whisper for support. regardless, i am confident that i will be okay.

but i am afraid for the world and thereby am afraid for myself. i do sometimes worry that the end is near. i worry that the “need” for more more more things and stuff will outweigh the need to care for each other (it is already happening). i am afraid that the world is being led to its end by selfish, atrocious excuses for humans and that their decisions will be entirely irreversible and that if there is any sense to be had or made that it will come too late.

but i (we) must hold onto hope, right? i (we) have got to find something to hold onto, right? or else what’s the point?

alongside the fear lives a shred of hope that a true awakening is coming (it could be happening right now) and that we will be able to do something in its wake. i don’t know that that awakening will come peacefully, but i believe in its arrival.

today is my lucky day today is my lucky day today is my lucky day today is my lucky day today is my lucky day.

march 11, 2026

I will never be sorry for how much love I give out.

march 7, 2026

in a sea of gray, black, and beige stands me in a sunshine yellow jumpsuit with a magenta turtleneck underneath, a teal and sky blue jacket, and— what’s become somewhat of a signature— periwinkle platform crocs.

i am bright— a light in the darkness of the New York City subway system.

i’m on my way to see the butterflies at the museum of natural history; to tempt them with the brightness of myself.

march 6, 2026

when i was in love
even on the tough days
every day was a day
to look forward to

it was a joy
to wake up
kiss your face
make you
breakfast
i’d run home from work
ready to hear about
your day

how do i find that
in myself
the drive to engage
with myself
brimming with glee
ready to start
another day
just for me

i’ll try a new recipe
plan a date for myself
let myself
experience life

i promise
it’ll be fun
worthy of my
love and joy

my love and joy
belongs to no one
but me

—— — — - ——

loving life is a difficult thing

march 5, 2026

i think
surprisingly
my heart
remained
intact
unbroken

march 3, 2026

i spent many
eyelash wishes
11:11s
lucky clover
manifestations
on you
on us

saved none
for myself

how foolish
forgetting myself
again

but
i’m learning

— — —— — - ——

i long
to be
known

february 28, 2026

i saw a friend
on the street
he beamed at me
said i looked
gorgeous
in earnest
unprompted

it was the
first time
i’d felt it
in a while

— - —— — — - ———

i forgot
that i get to be
witnessed
by the world
that it experiences me
almost as i experience
the world

forgot that there are
distinct features that
appoint me
anoint me
a unique point
in the universe

i am more than
footsteps tread
into the earth
there is weight
in the body that
made them

what a pity
i forgot
what a gift
i remembered

february 26, 2026

messages of
i love you
i love you
i love you
massage
the inside of
my forehead

tears press against
my ducts
daring the dam
to break

i love you
i love you
i love you

i do
still

when will i
tell you
for the last
time

i love you

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i’m also (at the time i’m writing this) in week 4 in my current run of the artist’s way, which is reading deprivation week. i’d intended to extend my reading deprivation to social media deprivation as well but have not been doing a great job of resisting instagram; i’ve left it on my phone so i can keep in touch with a tattoo artist. i have lost some time this week (and last week) to scrolling, but not as much as i did when i last had instagram on my phone.

anyway, i am here writing instead of scrolling, reading, or engaging in needless screen time. i’ve got a cat in my lap, a glass full of water next to me, and a candle burning— putting me in a decent mood to create. maybe i’ll even do a bit of cleaning tonight.

below are some revelatory morning pages and some poems inspired by recent events, meditations, and ruminations. although the content is somewhat morose, i feel good about the words i’ve written.

february 14, 2026

i cross a silent
intersection
daybreak brims
casting a soft pink
’cross the darkest
blue

no kiss upon
my cheek
this year
no gift
for my lover

a sigh of relief
caught
in my throat
choked with tears
unwilling to
fall

i loved
loving you
i’ll never
regret
knowing that
feeling

happy valentine’s day
i hope love finds us both
again

Read more

i am so grateful to Kaila and Eartha for taking the time to process this prompt and offering their pieces to this inaugural collection. i personally did not think i’d see this project through to the end, but their contributions inspired me to push past my own doubt and produce something rather than nothing.

it feels a bit ironic to be publishing this on a day associated with superstition, second guessing, and doubting oneself. maybe that’s all the reason needed to put something into the world on such a day— to do something because you’re told not to. because it could change your life. how? it could result in something terrible. for who? it could be calamitous. why? who knows? you can’t know until it’s done. i was born on a Friday the thirteenth and would venture to say that it was a pretty lucky day.

doubt functions at two different levels in my life— as an inhibitor and an enabler. doubt is sometimes a fuel. at other times, it extinguishes all possibility. i could be a lot of things if doubt didn’t exist. on the other hand, i’d be nowhere without it. doubt has pushed me to where i am today yet it is the reason i haven’t dared to tread farther.

where would i be without it? where am i now in spite of it?

i moved to New York because i doubted i could be my fullest self if i’d stayed where i was. i doubted that i’d find love and community and a worthwhile career in the smallness of Connecticut. i’m not exactly saying that i’ve successfully found all those things where i currently am, but i love the pursuit that doubt set me on. i have found wonderful, rich love and have known a profound sense of community because i followed my doubt. or did i run away from it?

i find myself staggered by doubt. doubt that i’ll ever achieve a “worthwhile career.” does such a thing exist? if i push past doubt, could i live a life free of it? i certainly can’t surrender to it in this case or i’ll surely die of retail mundanity. and yet, i can’t help but doubt the possibility of becoming a “successful” writer.

doubt’s brought me to where i stand and keeps me planted there. it taunts and drives me. how can i possibly reach higher than i where i am? how could love find me again after i’ve lost it? how could i keep from doubting that? how could i not push myself past that uncertainty, strive for my fullest potential, be open to love again?

doubt is formative. you either charge through it to prove it wrong or allow it to impede your success and enact its will. it is ever present and offers you one of the two options. how do you find the strength to overcome or ignore it? why can you do so sometimes and at others cower before it?

i clearly don’t have the answers to all these questions. but i now have a place to sit and contemplate. when doubt visits me there, i’ll do my best to face it with courage and tenacity. i’ll do my best to move through it with a stronger sense of confidence. i think that is growing; i think that doubt and i can work out an understanding of when it’s helpful and when it’s not.

i don’t know who i’d be if doubt didn’t exist, but i might not be who i am now. and i love who i am.

— Ev

january 12, 2026 — (mini) morning pages 116

this officially marks the beginning of my second run of the artist’s way. i am in the midst of a huge transition but think that this practice can serve as an anchor for my mind and a synthesis for my creativity. i hope to pull pearls of wisdom from this experience as i navigate completely new mental and emotional territories. i hope to foster resolve and to reinvest in my time with myself. I look forward to artist dates and forging bonds with the friends joining me in this practice. i turn toward inspiration and open myself to progress and opportunity. may this practice support my belief in myself and my care for my spirit. good things are coming. i love you, Ev!

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