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


Stale Mate

I’m watching you watch me

There’s something in this water

You refuse to speak

I’m tuning in

But you’re on the out

I wanted to stay

You threw me out

You were my whiskey

I was your plate

You were my love

I was your?….

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

Barter With Me

I’ll give you two cents

      If you can tell me what my deal is

We can trade our laughs

      And sign the seal with codes in oath

You may want to consider

      Whether you hold strength in your 


      Are only letters if you fear them

But I know you fear yourself

       A mastery of who

You have no zipper left

      Therefore each notch owns you

I will give you a dime

      Your words are perfect tens

Who cares if we’re right or wrong

      Who corrects minds through lineage
By Keota P

Where Is…

Claws to the scalp

I need your hold

Life’s elixir

I give it back

I want your bones

Where is my Wolf? 

The love we mate

It’s been far too long


Shouldn’t I devour you?


Pour your brew

Your skin is in my head

Tears down my face

I swear I’d claw you

Around trees I wait



And everything aches 


Let us feed

Once more

The love we mate

Poem by Seraphine

photography by E. J. Bellocq


The Daily Post – Dancing

May I please have a beat? Just a few of your honesty. And may I please rest my feet on our rocky start laid in front of me. Did you get my message? I left it there in a back bend of emotions. A literal back bend I gave you. One you held without devotion. Back then I wondered how could we make it to the stage. How could I dance with you while unlaced? Where will we go to find our justice? And what if I take a bow to your untruths. What if I dance with some one else? And what if we dance as I dance with you?

I enjoy the cologne of an alpha’s unrest. I enjoy the pounding of hearts out of dress. Here I am, toes on a cold floor as I come down on bended knees. I am happy that I danced with you. I am happy that I was imperfectly me.