farmers market finds

a rocky mountain flowers guide and strawberry jam

homemade love potions

promising that lost love will return

as my fingers graze the bottle

the crystal lady sweet-talks

her voice reminiscent of a bird’s chirp

eyes gleaming like a cat’s

a wine-stained bottle

filled with slime and stardust

she smiles

her words burning sticky sweet

like she already knows

which name

I’ve buried beneath my tongue

I leave with empty hands

yet all afternoon

my pocket smells of rosemary and rain

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If no one witnessed your self-improvement, would you still pursue it? Nowadays even the smallest act of self improvement can be used as content. While that can sometimes be inspiring, it usually comes off as performative. From recommending books for the aesthetic rather than the content to therapy condensed into instagram infographics, we see a lot of people using social media as proof of their growth. However, documenting your life isn’t evidence you’ve changed, real transformation comes from the inner work that no one sees. If you use your own self-improvement as a way to monetize your growth, you’re doing not only yourself a disservice, but your audience as well. The greatest luxury today isn’t privacy but the freedom to transform without an audience. In a culture that encourages us to document every little thing, silence becomes a true act of resistance. It allows us to discover desires that belong to us alone, rather than desires that exist only because someone else might witness them.

When someone looks at us we often begin to see ourselves through their eyes. Jean-Paul Sartre argues this in his famous idea “The Look”, imagine someone looking through a keyhole completely alone but then they hear footsteps and they suddenly become aware of themselves, and a feeling of shame washes over them as they imagine how the other person perceives them. With social media those footsteps become everpresent, causing us to regularly analyze how others view us. It’s increasingly more common now to be filmed by a stranger with meta glasses, be asked to do a street interview, or have a public breakdown be recorded. This creates an anxiety of having to constantly perform or be on your best behavior in order to avoid possible public scrutiny. As a result we also act like we’re being watched even if we’re alone, wondering how someone else would view our actions if they were in the room with us. We begin asking ourselves questions like, would my morning routine make a good tiktok or does my current TBR make me look like I have good taste? The problem isn’t that we’re being watched, it’s that we’ve begun watching ourselves.

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There are moments when I don’t want to become a better person. I want to become the kind of person who has everything and desires nothing. Lately, I’ve found myself returning to the words of the fictional vampire queen Akasha, “I am the girl! I am the god! I am the voice! I am the song! I am the night! And I can answer! I can arrange it! I can say rise, and I can say speak! And I am her! And I am she! And I, I, I, I am the answer!” While Akasha is speaking about how she is the solution to the world’s problems, an underlying idea speaks to me. A fantasy that many of us secretly entertain, which is that we don’t want to become better but to become complete. To become so certain of yourself that you are an unshakable force, someone who no longer needs reassurance because they have become the answer itself.

Her words also remind me of this quote from Alexander Scriabin, a Russian composer and pianist: “I am God! I am nothing, I’m play, I am freedom, I am life. I am the boundary, I am the peak.” This is an interesting contrast to Akasha; she wants to dominate the world, to command it. Scriabin doesn’t want to rule the world; he wants to become one with it. To dissolve the boundary between ourselves and the world around us. As enticing as this vision is, it makes me wonder if we truly desire power or rest. I can often be a control freak, especially when I’m put in charge of situations. However, it’s not from a place of ambition, but rather from wanting to be able to relax and not have to worry. When I was in the sixth grade, I was cast as the Queen of Hearts in the school play, and everyone said it fit my personality. I secretly liked hearing it, not because I enjoyed ordering people around, but because I appreciated the sense of security it gave me. I was never trying to be overbearing, but being in charge can definitely get to my head.

Maybe that’s why power is so seductive. We often imagine power as having control over other people, but more often than not, it’s the fantasy of never having to feel afraid or alone again. If I could meticulously plan every step of my future, then maybe I could finally relax. People often mistake my ambition for ruthlessness, but in reality, I’m just looking for stability. Being a control freak doesn’t mean you’re power hungry; it means you’re looking for the peace you’ve never had.

Control has a way of disguising itself as peace. The two are often sold to us as though they were the same thing: peace and control. We tell ourselves once we’re healed enough that we’ll finally be able to rest. That peace is our reward for finding ourselves. We don’t chase control because we desire it; we chase it in hopes it will quiet our minds.

But the mind is never quiet, is it? There’s always a new problem to solve, and the tighter we grip our lives, the weaker our grasp gets. Control doesn’t offer peace of mind; it trains the mind to constantly be on edge. Maybe that’s why I keep returning to Akasha’s and Scriabin’s words. They both long to become all-encompassing but for different reasons. Akasha’s words demonstrate that power can lead to a false sense of wholeness. Scriabin’s echoes the hope that becoming one with the universe will do the same. One seeks peace by domination, the other seeks it by surrender. To become everything is to desire nothing.

The mistake isn’t domination or surrender, but believing that peace waits on the other side of transformation. I keep telling myself that change is the answer, that a new version of myself will quiet the noise. But every new me faces her own challenges. There will always be another flaw to fix, another dream to chase, another self to become. Once we stop treating ourselves like we’re something that has to be fixed, then maybe peace begins. Peace isn’t the reward; it’s what allows us to live while we’re still becoming.

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tearful eyes

staring out the window

like a forgotten French film

fragile hands

grasping a cup of tea

she waits

the raindrops falling

synonymous with her heartbeat

the woman appears

from the window’s reflection

wearing the same tattered nightgown

from long ago

when her womanhood

was an unnatural thing

she does not knock

she has never needed to

soothed by silence

as if it has saved her a seat

cold tea untouched

the porch gleaming

a haint blue

faithful through rain or shine

as the seasons pass

she changes

rain mumbling

in a language

only those with patience

understand

I paint my toes

while you whine about Sylvia Plath’s fig tree

the bottle knocks over

bubble bath pink sinks into the carpet

like a skipping rock across the pond

our eyes lock with a shared silence

there’s not only a stain on the carpet

but one on my heart

we used to stick together like glue

now we’re more like glue on glass

unable to bind our shared time

size 6 shoe

big doll eyes

brunette ringlets curling around what’s left of me

nearly perfect

except the soft rot of a sin I never confessed

you say can’t recognize me

but i never felt more myself

maybe that’s wrong

a bruised type of beauty

like icarus’s melted wings

a player in my own suffering

but a winner in others eyes

survival of fittest

there’s a whole other world

under the knife

Gone Girl’s Cool Girl Monologue echoes in my mind every time someone utters the word niche. Whenever I hear it I imagine someone trying to put blocks in a puzzle but none of them fit. The desire to curate the perfect vibe that everyone loves is relatable, but doesn’t it get exhausting? People want something that is cohesive and packaged that can be sold and bought. If you don’t fit the “cool girl mold” then you can’t be commercialized therefore you can’t be profited off of. With the term “niche” becoming mainstream it lost its inherent meaning, niche is now how you can sell a neat packaged version of yourself while seemingly aligning with coolness. However, the reality is that you’re not that different from others and your niche interests don’t make you better than anyone, rather it gives off that you’re trying too hard to be different.

How do you spot the elusive “cool girl”? She keeps up with the trends and ditches what doesn’t serve her image, guaranteeing her House of Sunny green dress is now at the bottom of the bin at a goodwill. She has a smile with a vacant look in her eye almost as if she’s peering through you. Cool girl has mastered the perfect combination of nice and nasty, just the right amount of bitch that keeps you entertained and not threatened. She’s infected with Khloe Kardashian syndrome looking different every time you see her but still having that same plastered smile on her face. Not a wolf in sheep’s clothing but a chameleon looking for a ladder to climb.

We often think of female celebrities as the “cool girl” and use them to frame how we talk about women, shaping our understanding of femininity through an unrealistic lens. These public figures are seen as effortlessly chic, likeable, and confident while everyday women are compared to their curated images. The cool girl archetype suggests that women should be carefree but exemplary and ambitious yet nonthreatening. This creates a paradox where women are criticized for falling short to these impossible standards built from celebrity culture rather than reality. In this way, female celebrities become symbols through which society negotiates its expectations of women, reflecting both admiration and control.

Cool girl might be a feminist but she never argues rather she just doesn’t have an opinion– a blank canvas for you to project your values on. She prefers her feminism to be fun and light the problem with that is feminism isn’t supposed to be fun. It’s hard work that gets under misogynists skin, not just screaming fuck the partichary and going on with your day like your Kendall Roy. It’s important to question public figures’ politics and just don’t take them at face value. They might be reposting everything that aligns with your politics, but are they actually getting active in their local communities?

Now let’s get into the fashion of “the cool girl” . She embodies quiet luxury– simplistic but elevated looks. Even though she has access to a closet every little dreams of, she chooses outfits that are rather basic to represent her carefreeness. Oh I just threw on this $800 sweater that you’ll never be able to afford no big deal. Cool girl subscribes to the belief that her fashion is her feminism when in reality it accomplishes nothing. She promotes overconsumption and throws giveaways of the stuff she doesn’t want including pr boxes she’s never touched. She sells you the idea that her shopping addiction is just a material issue and not a spiritual one.

Light as a feather or blank as a canvas? Cool girl’s skinniness represents blankness and promotes the idea that a woman’s looks define her worth. “Any time my body image issues start to flare up I just remind myself that thinness is the most boring aspiration... you could create great art or learn a new language or travel the world...and you’re focused on... this? how uninspired…”

(bald ann dowd on x) The obsession with thinness reflects on society’s desire for women to take up less space. By idealizing emptiness, the “cool girl” aesthetic erases individuality and vitality, suggesting that the most desirable woman is one who is seen but not heard, admired but not fully alive.

Above all else, cool girl maintains the lie that she is all natural. Everyday it’s getting harder and harder to spot plastic surgery, with most procedures being completely undetectable. She maintains this lie because without it her carefree facade slips. The “ I just woke up like this” myth is her strongest currency– it allows her to seem effortless instead of put together. But cool girl isn’t effortless or natural, she’s calculated and knows exactly how to profit off your insecurities. By denying getting work done she just pushes more women to chase impossible standards.

In the end, the “cool girl” isn’t a real woman but a performance—a packaged version of authenticity sold back to us. She is both the product and the advertisement, thriving in a culture that profits from women’s insecurities while pretending to liberate them. The rise of “niche” culture and the “cool girl” aesthetic shows how even rebellion itself has been commodified. What once represented self-expression has been rebranded as something to be consumed. To reject the cool girl image is to remind ourselves that the human experience isn’t about perfection. We’re messy, loud, and, most importantly, imperfect—and that’s what makes us real. Being human will always mean more than being the cool girl.

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Nevertheless, creative blocks still surface, posing challenges to the creative process. Overcoming such obstacles often requires altering one’s approach to making ideas. Engaging in activities such as listening to music, taking a reflective walk, or practicing yoga can help come up with new ideas. Furthermore, implementing techniques like timed free writing encourages spontaneous thought. By diversifying creative strategies, you can reengage with the essential processes.

At its core, creativity is the foundation for community, and it connects us in ways we wouldn’t expect. Whether you’re singing a song, publishing a book, releasing a movie, or performing any other creative act, you seek an audience as a witness to its meaning. It invites a dialogue between creator and consumer, an exchange that transforms your imagination into shared experience. For example, when a community comes together to solve an issue, creativity becomes a medium for empathy. It lets you put yourself in another person’s shoes, which produces diversity and unites people together. Encouraging mutual understanding is what sustains community life.

Creativity not only connects us together, but it also empowers us to evolve. When we face challenges, creative thinking offers a rebirth. Societal movements often start with a creative act, whether that be a film, song, or piece of writing. Through these acts, creativity serves as a beacon of hope and promotes community building. You might think your creative ideas don’t serve a purpose– but that’s not true because anyone can be an artist, you don’t need to be born talented, but just need the drive. If you are constantly bored or feel like you’re losing your mind, create something. It’s the best way to replenish your energy. Not only does it give you something to do, but it gives you something to be proud of.

If you feel like you’re lacking a creative drive, look around at the relationships in your life. Are you completely obsessed with your partner to the point where you can’t think about anything else? Do you have a good support system? An obsession with romantic relationships can lead to a lack of creative energy. When you focus too much on someone else, you deplete your own energy, creating a spiritual cord which can be difficult to break. Make a point to take some time alone and figure out proper boundaries that will encourage your creative ideas and sustain your relationship.

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my beating heart in your hands—
fragile as butterfly wings,
yet strong like ancient pines.

have I been here before?
you look up at me
with your stained-glass eyes,
a fractured light within them,
whispering forgotten visions.

gazing through the looking glass,
it settles on me:
I will not be forgotten.

my legacy,
intertwined with fate—
but fleeting
as a firefly’s glow.

In summary, A man encounters his living shadow and is determined to uncover the real one. This story sparked a fantasy that I can’t get rid of. The idea that I could one day just run into my doppelganger fascinates and terrifies me. Sometimes, I daydream and think about what I could say to her if I ever had the chance. I wonder if she shares my artistic eye or has the same love for creation. Suppose she decided to pursue film and became a world-famous director/actor, a tech-savvy media mogul, or in a museum restoring a beautiful painting.

Moreover, Davila connected me to my childhood curiosity, which always got me into trouble. For example, the park by my house had flooded because it had rained the previous day. The mulch had transformed into a wonderous mudbath, so six-year-old me had to swim in it. However, as I began swimming, the mudbath became a heavy quicksand that swallowed me whole. Luckily, my neighbor Raina and her friends pulled me out, and I went home as if nothing had happened. Looking back on that day, I appreciate my childlike wonder and the places it took me. Perhaps one day, I’ll find my shadow and share everything my curiosity has taught me, or maybe no one ever pulled her out of that mulch, and she’s still crying out for help.

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Samantha Jones is the perfect example of a sexually liberated woman. She has her own career, her own friends, and her own desires. Samantha doesn’t take shit from anybody and makes it a point to value herself over the men in her life. A lesson we can learn from her is that it doesn’t make you a bad person to want a man. Also no that man is worth your dignity. As long as you’re concerned with your own personal pleasure, you shouldn’t deny yourself your desires.

You are so much more than a girlfriend, wive, or mother, these societal roles are just an aspect of who you are and not your whole identity. We’re told to not engage in our pleasure by others, to not feel confident when a man you like looks at you. But it’s okay if a man makes you feel confident as long as that’s not your only source of validation.

With the rise of purity culture it’s more important than ever to value your own pleasure. You shouldn’t pay any mind to what people will think of you and focus on what it is you want. Furthermore, male attention isn’t the end all be all. You are more than your body and you can explore your sexuality without centering men.

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the sun is rotten

everyone looks at you
everyone smiles
like moths drawn to a flame
a blinding light surrounds you
as if you’re the second coming
ancient as an oil lamp, but never eternal
your light dims around my presence
a heartbeat flickers like flame

ghosts gather in your glow
soaking up your tall tales
shadow puppets dance in your stead
while hopeful followers stumble into the light
their devotion woven from deceit
they fly too close, wings trembling
and burn in the arms
of their so-called salvation.

crystal in one hand,
knife in the other —
mother moon’s reflection in my blade,
a glint in her eye
guiding me to the sea.

water at my waist,
the depths call me in.
stuck between two realms,
salted air brushes my skin
like a hand pulling me back.

jolted awake —
sea glass slices my feet.
reality shatters
into jagged edges.

the waves whisper
in tongues I almost remember.
stars above blur and blink,
Orion draws his bow —
an arrow through my chest.
my heart opens like a wound.

gazing back up at me,
mother moon hums
a low, incoherent tune.

blood on the shore
with no body to hold her.
my vessel sails
to the heart of the sea.

America's sweetheart,

French kisses that taste like pop rocks,

The aroma of a distant barbecue trapped in her hair,

Fireworks reflecting in dilated pupils—

Is this the American Dream?

Momma said it should stick like skin,

Bleed red, white, and blue,

But that green light beckons me when I’m with you.

Red lipstick stains on my cheeks,

A cherry stem tied around my heart,

Beating like the pounding of bare feet on cracked pavement,

The national anthem echoes,

But I wipe you off my lips—

Devouring me like a contest no one wins

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you called me a poisoned perfectionist,
obsessed with the outcome, not the income.
bedeviled when I’m out of tune—
the crossroads sang me a lullaby.

my worth carved in broken strings,
strumming sins while my fingers ache,
counting chords like rosary beads,
praying in verses—
the only language I know.

the frets bite back at my soul.
a shadow looms over me,
black as night,
asking,
"do you want to meet your maker,
or meet your morrow?"

he grins,
a gleam in his eye,
staring
at the bloodstains on my guitar.

If curiosity killed the cat, would it kill me too?

I ask, while peering through the looking glass.
The girl in the reflection’s eyes pierce right through me—
hypnotizing not only my mind, but my soul—
whispering an ancient hymn,
one that has been told before and will be told again.

She moves with the grace of an angel, wings absent,
beautiful and bewitching,
deadly in nature,
spinning a tale about the hereafter,
claiming sins don’t determine your fate.
And your vision—
grasps onto the tree of life.

A low melody hums, luring me in,
its notes curling like smoke,
weaving between my ribs,
pulling at the thread of something forgotten.
the glass suddenly shatters.
And the old superstition plays in my mind:
seven years.
The weight of luck
presses against my chest.

The reflection of the girl winks,
reminding me:
Curiosity may not be a killer,
but it is most certainly
not
my friend.

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why do you laugh when I pass by?

Our secrets, once tied in satin,

wrapped tight like a bow—

unravel with every lie you let slip.

The ribbon falls,

and at its end, a wooden box.

But I won’t be fooled like Pandora.

I know—

if I lift the lid,

you'd take control again.

It waits—

seductive in its silence,

promising reconciliation.

But I know her nature.

A fair-weather friend—

just like you.

Always there for a good time,

never for a long one.

Never by my side.

buy me a coffee :)

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I reminisce how the sun would catch on my skin.

The effervescent light consuming me whole,

Making me want to breathe again.

Revitalizing this body I seem to be so attached to,

Loneliness might be the most soulful act there is.

But I can’t go back to the delusion,

That I am separate from this earth.

I cannot transcend to another plane,

No way of removing myself from here.

I cling to mother earth,

Just like how sand sticks to skin.

Wailing as the waves wash over me,

Finding solace as the moon push and pulls me,

As if I’m being reunited with a long lost love.

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my sense of self softens

the queen of hearts possesses me

boisterous and demanding

you will see me even if I have to fight for it

she echoes

the sound of the floorboards creaking nearly consumes me

but my voice carries on as if it’s an angels trumpet

calling for the day of judgment

under my feet lays my telltale heart

an x

while wondering if I have missed my mark

applause rings my ears so loud I feel as if there about to pop

as I give my final bow wooden roses lay at my feet

whispering that they’ll never be real roses

Are you going through a spiritual awakening or spiritual psychosis?

As a child summer meant everything to me, I can still hear the blue kool aid dripping off my wet hair, smell the scent of tacky glue from my dolphin glitter tattoo, and see my younger self constantly eating shit due to my orange razor scooter.

This summer don’t be afraid to connect with your inner child and go absolutely fucking feral. With a recession looming over our heads people are looking for ways to escape our current reality. Now is the perfect time to embrace your delusions and follow your dreams. Delusional optimism is in and making the fact you take lexapro a personality trait is out.

We have seen a rise in younger people looking to change their lifestyle through spirituality. Especially with going back to church, people are craving community and the current lack of third spaces isn’t helping. I’ve seen people I’ve known for years suddenly become more conservative not because those are their values. But due to the fact that they want to feel like they’re apart of something bigger than themselves while putting in the least amount of effort as possible.

Ignorance is bliss not freedom

Happiness is becoming the new currency, people are tired of the culture of constantly analyzing behavior. Whether that be your own or someone else’s. I’m personally past giving a fuck about some mistake a random influencer/celebrity made. I’m also feeling a huge lean back into creativity and if you’re feeling a block, try approaching the ways you come up with ideas differently. Some suggestions I have are listening to music, taking a walk, and reading tarot. Try different activities and see what makes your creative juices flow.