Someone Told Me Not To Post This.

July 11, 2015.. The day my transition and transformation began. The sleepless nights didn’t kill me. The abandonment didn’t kill me. The abuse didn’t kill me. The rapes didn’t kill me. My attempted murderer didn’t kill me. Depression, anxiety, and (ptsd) didn’t kill me. Fear mongers didn’t kill me. Lack of love and self love did not kill me. 

I decided to stop suppressing myself. I decided to stop making myself unhappy to make others comfortable because they sure wouldn’t do the same. I became my own support, my own cheerleader, my own love interest (Yes, it’s possible without perversion). And once I made those changes, I felt and saw the support and love flood into my life from every corner, The Sky as well as every grain of soil. Finally, I openly followed my intuition which has NEVER BEEN WRONG. I will always stay with my gut instinct and intuition before anyone’s word. I’m sharing this because I know there are more people out here who have been through this (and more). 

And you still haven’t let go. Fear holds us back. It’s a type of slavery you can’t easily see, nor are most prepared to acknowledge. The worst part about this is that there are children who are taught that they do not matter, that they aren’t loved, they aren’t worthy, and they should be silent. Then as they grow older they are left in pieces to clean up the destruction that was bestowed upon them. Every excuse is made in this world to make them slaves, to break their spirit. I went from local churches growing up, to NOMA, and Waymaker ministries to help change things. But I had to start with myself. The summer of 2015 was the evening that I fell high, reborn.

If you didn’t know, you are needed. You are worthy, you are loved. Please love yourself. #AllIsABlessing #LoveYourself


Phoenix (Keota)

black water photo

sunrise photo


I Have To Explain This?

To the point: I don’t write to be a writer. This is clear. Yes I’m shading myself. The best self care is being honest with yourself about your flaws and faults. Okay, so I write to heal. Also, speaking (typing) in this way begins to irritate me. I get restless so I like to use a poetic “format” because it’s quick. Even when it’s cliche rhyming. That doesn’t matter to me. It’s a healing process. Which brings me to..

I hate being censured. I don’t include highly sensitive personal details. So I’m already censored. If I am here to heal, In one of my many ways of healing, Let me. If I let you break me, allow me to heal, please. I am not putting anything extra into the atmosphere. Which brings me to…

The epiphany that anyone who doesn’t want you to peacefully heal want you to dramatically die. 


glass of blood

burning book

Seems Like A Zoo

The Daily Post- ZOO 

Walking a famous street

Wild energy feels subdue

Everyone screams here

They like to call this Moulin Rouge

But this seems like a zoo

Drunken chatter

Laughter and loud gestures

This is heaven’s hell

Stampedes of women carrying their woes

For the sake of pimps swallowing women’s prides

And from her cage she watches the show

Beer bottles cling

Cigar smoke rising

A little bit of sex and smeared lipstick

Just little bit of crying

The world spins as she points her toes

Silly glares and pointed noses

Everyone has opinions

As well as having their place in this hole

While she thrusts her hips to the music blaring

All she could care of is the would be more

She watches them fall to the pavement

They watch her explore on the floor

They paid for admission

A price for the lesson learned

© Keota Picou “Owl of the South”

Sunrises are romantic and soft

Late October mornings feel like arms around my waist

The early sky whispers in my ears

All the answers to reflections I question

I wondered if this cloud knew

Sunsets are passionate and wild

Like a caress on the neck

Something more than a bite on the lip

The night wind chills my skin

Just like the trails of a lover’s finger nails as they pull me in

I bet the moon feels our secrets

I see the crows like to watch

I know the wolves can hear me sing

And my lover chants to the owls for mercy

I will not choose the universe’s sunrises or sunsets

That perfect seventh hour found me

And I intend to be fair

I remember that need

Waking up to morning dew on the skin

Feels like love

Which is the most righteous sin

By Keota Picou

Photo Source


The Daily Posts Dubious

A ha! If there is one word to describe my actions it would be dubious. Such as believing the sweet nothings of the rolling stone variety. At the moment, I laugh at myself for being so idiotic. But it isn’t funny at all, is it? I feel it’s a bit too early to pour myself some Black Magic Rum. Either way, I have to explore it at this point. Me, dubious as I continued to walk through his door. Him, dubious as he looked in the mirror. But that never stopped a lie. 

I should’ve charged. Thieves lose hands every night. He’s probably laughing hysterically- belly filled with poison devoured from tongues. There I tore the pages and ate them. There is no more soreness. Some shiny apples are rotten at the core. Little girls better grow up and learn. Savagery and low vibes hide high. But boomerangs continue to deliver. Deep within the marrow he knows..

That his mask will either melt or mold. And both are most certainly the heart break he gave generously.

Photography by E.J. Bellocq

Silently Loud (II)

I would like to be photographed as a silhouette. So they will see all of me.

Every inch they will have to read. And every mile in their minds they will have walked with me.

Yes they rationalize to hold me in. I break the boxes. I damage floors.

My gut is stretching I suppose.

Call me Phoenix

Photography by Nilo Burkhart

Model: Keota Picou