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



Have you ever met someone and they were a breath of fresh air?

Just like that. This very special soul is inspiring as the wind. Fluid like water. Grounded and nurturing as the Earth. And passionate as fire. 

You can take me away.

Be my air 

I want to sink into your emotion. 

Please be my ocean

Let me grow with you. Let’s make a tree.

Are we Earth

Rest me in your center. I’ll be the heat.

Who’s your fire

I am so overwhelmed by this energy. How can I express this thoroughly?

Suffocate me in your heat. I want you to breathe. Blow your wind into my lips. 


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


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

A Bomb Drops

I saw a bomb drop during an afternoon in an eastern country (I’m not sure where I was. Could’ve been America. But I had the string direction of East). It was a clear sky, I think I saw a water tower nearby. What ever it was, it was white and stood high into the sky. It seemed to he an industrial town or near a work site but strangely I also saw a rural town and the city not far ahead. As soon as I saw the mushroom cloud rise, I woke up. The wheel keeps turning.


(I just need to let it out)

I believed that we were neighbors. As with my mail, I trusted him with my heart. I invited him into my home with his intentions of tearing it apart. My neighbor went AWOL. Not very shocking to me. Quite typical. What ever happened to chivalry? Maybe he packed it up with his bathroom box labeled “Fragile”. Much like We. Unfortunately, I was addicted. His lies were all I needed. 

In My Tree,