My desires, my fears, letters I never sent, journal entries, spells and secrets. That’s what you’ll find in here.
- Mirror, mirror, on the wall…What do you see when you look in the mirror? Do you see past, present, future? Do you see a portal to the other realm? Do you see a magical tool? Do you see, merely, your own reflection? Do you know what I see? There’s… a lot there. I have to look past the mess… and find forgiveness, recognition, love. I see the little girl I failed to protect. I want to gather her in my arms and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know how she can still smile at me, with the stars glued on her… Read more: Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
- Lascivious delights; from NOLA to me to Ohio?I can feel the steam rising off of the cobbled streets, and I find myself dodging puddles of who knows what. The pastel buildings with their iron galleries and dripping tropical flowers seem to shiver as I run my fingers across their bousillage and stucco exteriors. And the air is heavy, almost alive: thick with perfume and ghosts. There’s a singer dancing in the square, and her voice is making my skin tingle. I want to raise my arms and dance, free, in a way that I haven’t been in… ages. And… there’s something about being here, in this place,… Read more: Lascivious delights; from NOLA to me to Ohio?
- New Orleans Day 4: Tarot, Antiques, Galleries, and Steamboat Cruising.One of the best things about New Orleans is the amount of shops: witch shops, antiques, vintage clothing, food, costumes, lamps, keys, corseteries… anything you can possibly imagine. I was alone for a bit and decided to peek into an antique shop “Collectible Antiques” that had caught my eye the day before. I was drawn to the Byzantine art, the “patents” and the vintage masks, the chandeliers, but, as I always do, I wandered over to the jewelry. I’d been here the day before but nothing in particular had said: “Buy me!” (Or, ok, everything had and I couldn’t really… Read more: New Orleans Day 4: Tarot, Antiques, Galleries, and Steamboat Cruising.
- New Orleans Day 3!This haunted, beautiful, electric city is already close to my heart. And day 3? It was full of adventures: haunted dolls, witchy shops, a local named Willy with all the historical tea, a cooking class, and some fantastic jazz music. First and foremost: we had to have coffee. Luckily, whatever spirit haunted this place that first night seemed to have calmed down after I left a snickers bar as an offering on a small side table. We ordered waffles, and bagels with lox. Thus fueled, we decided to go check out some of the amazing shops nearby. The first shop… Read more: New Orleans Day 3!
- New Orleans: A Honeymoon. Day 1 & 2Exploring New Orleans through food and ghosts!
- Music Blog Part 3Sometimes, the only thing that saved me was music… and reinvention. “Free Falling” by Tom Petty– I saw my dad before he died. I don’t mean that I held his hand as the light faded away, or that I saw his last breath leave his body, or that I was there when he coded 1, 2, 3 times. I wasn’t with him. I was around 850 miles away at the time. I’d left Florida to come back to Ohio, because he was being moved to a rehab facility and my uncles were there to help my mother with his care.… Read more: Music Blog Part 3
- Music Blog Part 2…I am probably one of the most sentimental people you’ll ever meet. I rarely hold onto items and clothing, though. For me, it’s all about words: the ones I have written and the ones people have written to me – and about me. I have binders full of letters, carefully preserved. I have boxes filled with cards, going back to when I was just a child. I have emails and screenshots dating back to the MySpace era. I have plastic tubs filled with journals, half filled, about any number of subjects. I have online blogs that make me cringe and… Read more: Music Blog Part 2…
- My WIP… A New Version of Demons and Captives!Hey friends, I’ve been quiet for too long. The truth is I was in a major writer’s block and I was very busy in my personal life (getting married, planning, house hunting, mental health stuff). And then one day, BAM, this totally new version of my current WIP hit me like lightning and I knew I had to rewrite the entire thing with a new take. I’ve kept some of the characters but I’ve certainly changed things around, including names. So welcome to my strange new world! Here you will find Demons, Witches, Fey, Mer-people, Witches, Selkies, librarians, sassy old… Read more: My WIP… A New Version of Demons and Captives!
- Songs and Memories: Part 1Music can take you anywhere. Maybe a certain song comes on and you’re a child again, watching your mother sing into a broom with her bright, booming voice, eyes sparkling with joy and mischief. Maybe you are in the rain, your heart leaking out of your chest and onto your too-colorful rainboots, wondering if the ache will ever end. Maybe a song, to you, is your first love, or your best friend from elementary school, or the stranger on a bus that you had daydreams about until the day they stopped taking it, and you always wondered… Music, to me,… Read more: Songs and Memories: Part 1
- Snow QueenSharing an old proem because it went with the pictures. I’m thinking I might try to publish some poetry. Thoughts? I love you all 💕 I was the Snow Queen once, with a heart of frost. When it cracked, thunder, there was only a dark night sky without stars. There would be no wishes made there, no shooting emblems of Hope. But they made me that way, with false promises, with stinging salt lips that only ever spoke lies or hurled insults, with paint smeared across my body and the walls, with guitar chords that plucked at my ribcage until… Read more: Snow Queen
- Death, and I.
I wrote this after my mom was hospitalized, recently, and many triggers came to light. I’m happy to report that she is ok. But this poem was born. I remember Death. He was beautiful. His hair like black feathers catching the oily spill of night. Grey eyes like a blizzard of desire and absence. The way his snow-pale hands wrapped around my calves, his light pink mouth pursed as he knelt at my feet. Waiting. I remember how he would not kiss me, not the way he kissed the other woman. I saw how she swooned in his arms, the… Read more: Death, and I. - From Lovers to Strangers…
From strangers to lovers. From lovers to strangers. A timeless story. I don’t know why it breaks my heart to think that one day, I could pass you on the street without breaking stride or slowing down. That you might not smile at the sight of my blonde waves, or the flowers perched in them like an exotic bird. I wonder why it hurts so much to know that I don’t know. I don’t know you anymore, and I never will again. I’m happy. In love. Content. I hope you are, too. But you’re a stranger now… and that fills… Read more: From Lovers to Strangers… - Elections and Breakdowns…These are my words. I love you 💕 if you are any marginalized group, or if you are just AFRAID, I am here. I am here and I love you. Come to me if you need a shoulder, an ear or a hug. I don’t know what else to say or do right now. I am trying to regroup. We have work to do, I know that. And I will. 💕
- Betwixt and Between, Part 3“You’ve never been here before, if I’m not mistaken?” Ourania turned to her with a strained smile, gesturing to the room before them. Room might have been the wrong room; for some reason the word “chamber” came to mind. The walls disappeared into the ceiling, which seemed to be covered in indigo and lavender clouds. A large pool dominated the space, made of the same white marble that the building was made of. Lotus blossoms and water lilies floated on the surface, and Iris watched them for a moment, caught in their beauty. She could imagine Ourania here, swimming in… Read more: Betwixt and Between, Part 3
- Betwixt and Between Part 2!Iris could feel the exact moment her heart stopped. She wondered if it would begin again, or if she might die here, too, where death was supposed to be impossible. She remembered the moment her heart had stopped in that life before here. A slow and steady decline, darkness, and then brilliant light. She’d awoken here. Ourania was one of the first people she’d seen, smiling down on her tenderly, pushing her hair back, murmuring reassurances. Iris had blinked and asked: “Are you an angel? Is this heaven?” Ourania had laughed, and it sounded like bells, like joy. “Not quite,”… Read more: Betwixt and Between Part 2!
- The Limbo Land: Betwixt and Between. Part 1.Iris awoke in soft light, stretching her arms over her head and sighing in contentment, turning to the right side of the large, cloud-like bed. Her fingers traced the indent of where her love had slept the night before, sleepily, wondering what dreams he might have had when she’d been flying in her own. It was strange that they still had dreams, here in this place. Nightmares still stalked her at times, but they nipped at her heels far less than they had when she’d been there. But as the pads of her fingers prodded the space beside her, she… Read more: The Limbo Land: Betwixt and Between. Part 1.
- Musings on self destruction…(TW: brief mention of suicide and addiction) Today I found myself musing on self sabotage or, as I frequently find myself calling it, self destruction. I think a lot of my life has been dictated by these perverse behaviors, and anyone that has known me for a long time would no doubt agree with that. I’ve healed, but I’m still healing. I am imperfect and flawed and oftentimes a mess. And a lot of times… I am the one to light the match of my own wildfires. I’m a runner. Not marathons or 5k runs, or even a jog around… Read more: Musings on self destruction…
- Daphne and Apollo: Cigarettes and Confessions.(NSFW – if you are my family and you’re going to be embarrassed by certain romantic driven prose, I’d sit this one out!) She strolled out of the midnight mist like she was made from it, he thought. It seemed to cling to her, like it was reluctant to let her go, but she didn’t seem to notice. That, he thought with a disheartened laugh, didn’t surprise him. Even the moon seemed to smile down at her with a winsome expression. She glanced up at him then, as if the small noise he’d made had alerted her. Her hair fell… Read more: Daphne and Apollo: Cigarettes and Confessions.
- Blood Promises: a Novel Excerpt(Warning: NSFW) – He didn’t want her like this, hushed and lost. He wanted to see that spark catch – and burn. “And what of Radnor?” Her eyes filled with longing before she took a shaky breath. Malacoz wondered if she would keep her silence on this, as if in that silence she could hold him tight to her breast and let nothing tear them apart. When she did finally speak, her eyes were dry, but devastated. “He is still my brightest light. He is the one thing I hold onto, when they put me into the Lake. His kindness.… Read more: Blood Promises: a Novel Excerpt
- Crimson Girl GoodbyeCrimson girl with the cocoa colored eyes, almond shaped, sparkling with mischief. We perched on lockers, sucking lollipops and trying to pretend that we were women; but we were only children. I remember when we replaced popsicles for cigarettes, Jones soda for whiskey, movie nights and popcorn for sneaking out and midnight, drugged kisses. I don’t want to dwell on the darkness that dragged us down, or the reason we no longer spoke. I want to remember us cutting our palms with a kitchen knife to be blood sisters. I looked at that scar in the flickering candlelight last night… Read more: Crimson Girl Goodbye
- I Slipped Through Your Fingers…You let me slip through your fingers… I wonder if that makes you want to break glass, your fists curled and bloody, slivers of reflections caught in your palms. I’m a peach sapphire dawn, and you are wary of the light, eyes slit against the glow, like you wish you could see me in that rosy shine. I admit to being even more lovely in the soft pink hours, wishing I was Aphrodite on sea foam and scalloped shells. You liked me in the morning with my hair tumbled, lips swollen, Atlantic green eyes lost in dreaming. Sometimes you’d watch… Read more: I Slipped Through Your Fingers…
- An Amalgamation of Love and Hate…“We are an amalgamation of everyone we’ve known and loved.” I saw that quote, and it’s been there in the back of my mind, a whisper of a melody I long to hear in full. Some days I feel like a threadbare quilt, almost translucent, nearly gossamer. But I know I’m a tapestry, thick and rich and true; ocean blues, Midwest golden wheat, the green of forest fascination, tawny eyes, the ghostly alabaster of grief. And you, all of you, are a part of it: good, bad, ugly and beautiful. The children in my Saint Augustine neighborhood come alive when… Read more: An Amalgamation of Love and Hate…
- I Crashed My Bike & Had An EpiphanyI crashed my bike yesterday, and it taught me a lesson. But let’s back up. Midwest spring means blooms turning their shy faces to the burgeoning strength of the sun. Leaves begin to adorn the dryad’s branches, like ladies with lovely new hats, preening and clucking at one another. I like to sit in a patch of light and stretch, waiting for invisible fey kisses to mark my nose and cheeks. I can almost feel winter cobwebs drifting away like spun sugar clouds in a gentle breeze. I can feel a smile gracing my face with the banishment of the… Read more: I Crashed My Bike & Had An Epiphany
- I’m the Villain in Your StoryI’m the villain in your stories. Do you tell them that I was wrapped in black velvet and satin, my breasts pushed up by the corset top so that everything else faded but your desire? Did you say that my bright jade irises distracted you from the fangs behind my smile? When spinning tales about me do you say that I purred, that my laugh was husky in my throat? That my perfume wafted like opium smoke and took you under? You say I tricked you with wide eyes, innocent: the luminous sheen, the spill of them like quiet rain.… Read more: I’m the Villain in Your Story
- 2 Years of Sweet Love.Flour dusted hands and faun eyes large with light. Hands on my hips, fingers digging into flesh. We dance under abalone, tulip blossoms in the sun, opening bright. Love with you is like lemon cake with lavender icing; love with you is like laughter, limbs entangled in firelit dark; love with you is like the easy breath of summer solstice moonlit nights. It’s been 2 years of leaving thunder for your rainbow skies; 2 years of writing love notes; 2 years and dozens of photos, culinary exquisite bites, Grimm snuggles, flowers on the walls and in the vase. I love… Read more: 2 Years of Sweet Love.
- A dream about friends and helplessness…I had a dream about him, and about her. It wasn’t the story about the couple who were torn apart by a slip in time and space, who each entered a shop for Halloween costumes, and became stuck in two different worlds, unable to reach one another. Forever. It is not the dream about the lovers who died, and the girl who had to choose: either go back to earth and find her love in reincarnation, or take the other door and find peace, to live there with her family. I’ll leave you to decide which door she took. I,… Read more: A dream about friends and helplessness…
- The snow day that never was, and more things.I feel like the grey is burrowing under my skin. My veins are not the blue of summer midnights, but the grey slush of breaking winter dreams. Sometimes I believe I am like the month of March; a few days of fake Spring, making people emerge with hope, and then spoiling their smiles with snowfall and wind and tears. An entirely unwanted month, is March. And I… I’ve felt such a way, too. Do you know that pair of shoes you saw at the store? The fun colorful ones you swear you’ll wear? Those pink vinyl boots with the patches… Read more: The snow day that never was, and more things.
- Letters to my younger self, continued…Dear Younger Me, To the little girl Liz. You were so desperate for affection, even back then. You had it with your family, and you had a few friends who cared for you, but a lot of the time you felt like a misfit. A lot of times it was the bullies who made you feel that way, with their hurtful words and the way they shut you out. Children can be hateful to one another, as you saw. You just wanted to be seen, loved and accepted so badly that you used to cry about it, nightly. Your mother… Read more: Letters to my younger self, continued…
- Step 3 and Struggles***TRIGGER WARNING: discussion of suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, mental illness, addiction*** Step 3: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of Goddess as we understood Her. Yes, I changed the wording slightly to fit my own beliefs. I don’t LOVE how the big book is really Christian-based but that’s just me. Regardless, this has always been one of my favorite steps. Once you believe that there is some higher power that will scoop you up with tender hands, the rest is much easier. As I said before, some people believe that AA itself… Read more: Step 3 and Struggles
- Step 2, And I’m not alone.I am a recovering alcoholic… and, for my sanity, I need to do shadow work, and work the steps. So, if you want to see my journey and my vulnerability, come along with me on this journey. 2: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. This is oddly accurate currently. I remember the first time I worked the steps and I got stuck on this one. I was so disconnected. I didn’t even believe in anything anymore. I didn’t think anything like that even existed. It was a hard time. 2 years after… Read more: Step 2, And I’m not alone.
- Letters to my Younger Selves,I need to start this by saying I am getting back into shadow work again. And our next podcast is going to be about advice to our young selves. So here is the first part of my letter. Stay tuned for more… Dear Younger Me, There are so many things I wish I had known, when I was younger. There is a lot of advice and guidance I’d give to you, young me, that I just didn’t know – or couldn’t (rather, wouldn’t) hear from anyone else. I have trauma from my past, and I’ve heard it’s a good idea… Read more: Letters to my Younger Selves,
- You love me, BUT…I loved you BUT… I loved you, like the ocean loves the moon, tides pulling with your command, my body in your sway. My heart mirrored you, an incandescent pearl in the blue deep, as you hung, luminous, in the indigo night. I loved you fiercely, a conquistador planting my feet in the soil of your soul, and claiming it as mine. The only gold I wanted were those amber flecks in your eyes. But I was callow, as green as the first shoots of daffodils through tender grass and soil. The world glittered and sparkled with the gems of spring,… Read more: You love me, BUT…
- Fallen God…You tumbled through space and time, your rack of antlers ripped away by the greedy black hole you were swept into, stars grasping for light as you gasped for breath, death at your fingertips. Immortal ichor to mortal blood. Even the sound of your screams dissolved into nothing and everything. You landed in a concrete jungle. The graffiti, in a crimson scrawl, declared: ‘This is hell.’ You believed it. I did, too, when I first saw this place. Craggy faces, wrinkles lined with dirt and grime, defeated eyes begging for change; atomic bombs blasting, burning patterns into youthful skin, a… Read more: Fallen God…
- Embers and CratersI brushed my hands across your brow, saw blood on my fingers. I wondered if I was the one with the knife, or if you had razors hidden in apple petal curls. Did you ever write letters just to watch them burn and sizzle in the flames? I wonder at the words eaten by fire beasts and salamanders: “Whore. I miss you. I hate you. I’m glad you don’t speak to me. Could we be friends, do you think? Fuck you. You never deserved me. You did shine. You always did. Forget me, like I’ve forgotten you.” I imagine the… Read more: Embers and Craters
- An Old High-school Blog…The other day, my lovely friend Julie mentioned that she was reading her livejournal, and it sparked my curiosity. I wanted to read mine again. I do it every few years, laughing at how dramatic I was, cringing at some of the things I wrote, groaning over the grammatical errors and the little girl I used to be. I started it when I was 14 and had just moved to Florida. I wanted something to document my journey, I guess, and to keep me connected to some of my friends in Ohio. A lot of it is endearing or at… Read more: An Old High-school Blog…
- Demons and Caves Part 1Malacoz ran through the brush, tireless, his feet pounding on the cold ground and the wind blowing his hair back from his face in a way that made him want to howl in triumph. His quarry was fast, faster than he’d thought she’d be, and he relished the chase, how it emptied his mind except for one thing: to hunt, and to kill. The sound of the prey’s heartbeat was quiet now, and he couldn’t hear her breathing. Some Fey magick perhaps. He paused to take stock of where he was. The trees loomed over him, black skeletons against the… Read more: Demons and Caves Part 1
- 12 years sober today…November is fucking depressing. It’s something about the bare trees, the grey skies, losing the hour of light in the evenings – and my own memories. I’ve been sober for 12 years and I’m eternally grateful for that. I’m proud of how far I’ve come and I celebrate this day every year, because I still think it’s my greatest accomplishment. There is a sense of achievement and gratitude every year on this day, and when I gather around the people I love, my heart is light. But. This day is a keen reminder of the girl I used to be,… Read more: 12 years sober today…
- Dear It’s Best If We Don’t Talk-Dear It’s Best If We Don’t Talk, We won’t speak face to face in this life again, but I hope you know I don’t wish you ill. Quite the opposite, in fact. I wish you no harm, nor would I hex or curse you. I wish you growth and happiness. After all, it was you who shot me into the Void, so that I could discern between the comforting silence of stars and soothing darkness, and the terror of beasts in the shadows that only wished to devour light. We catapulted into the realm of moonlight, laughing and breathless. Then… Read more: Dear It’s Best If We Don’t Talk-
- InvisibleI feel like I slip through the world in shadows, gathering a cloak of stars and darkness around me. I like the way the night curls around my long fingers, and the swelling secrets I hear on the murmuring wind. But – I didn’t ask to be invisible. I’m cold. Is this a version of Hell? Freezing and alone. The sun doesn’t reach me even as I stretch my body and stand on my tiptoes, trying to feel that warmth, to banish the gloom. It slithers just out of reach, every time. I beg for just a moment of that… Read more: Invisible
- Reckless FreedomI wonder if I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder, searching for the Huntsman on my trail. He wants to put my heart in a velvet lined box. I don’t know if these tired eyes and this worn smile can sway him; I am not the beauty they once called me, though I never believed their words anyway. Still – would he stop, struck by my green irises, filled with words and light? Would he collapse onto the ground and let me escape, not willing to cage my wildness? I don’t know. And so I keep running. When my stomach… Read more: Reckless Freedom
- I don’t feel ok.I don’t know if I can make this poetic, when I just need to let it out. I don’t feel ok. I haven’t felt ok for weeks. Anxiety has been nipping at my heels, little bites of pain, making my whole body shake and tremble with irrational fear. Some days I feel like I’m floating above myself, watching the world go on by, but I can’t connect with the woman I see before me. My spirit is elsewhere, perhaps resting its weary soul in a garden of peonies, snapdragons and poppies. I wonder if I’m dancing there with the shadows,… Read more: I don’t feel ok.
- Oh, Halloween…Oh think of me, won’t you, when the colorful trees shiver and the children are looking for tricks or treats. Think of me when you’re hunting for the perfect costume, or admiring the Harvest Moon at her peak. Think of me when sky-clad under an autumn sky. Think of me when you dance there, crunching leaves beneath your feet. All those costumes, becoming what I wanted to be (or maybe what they wanted me to be). Remember how I arched, feline, into your touch? Curled around you, kitten claws at your throat, my night light eyes haunted with both of… Read more: Oh, Halloween…
- Hades and LightYou had a wreath of roses on your curly hair mane, A lion in the garden of night, Devouring springtime and beauty, To sustain your numinous life. The golden boy, the loved, the desired, The Prince of flowers and game, And I am the Goddess of Death, Ghosts and sadness and shame. The souls I had taken were tattooed, All over my breasts and my skin, The curve of my stomach and hip bones, The tendrils the markers of sin. Darkness shouldn’t love sunshine, Shadows are in lust with the moon, But I craved the thought of you as mine,… Read more: Hades and Light
- Lamial and Malacoz, Lakes and Caves.The palace was quiet, and the heels of his boots clipped smartly on the polished floors. Lower Demons scurried out of his way, wide eyed and fearful, and Malacoz reveled in it. He smiled at one of them, a small female with white hair and yellow eyes, and she swallowed hard before backing away into the first open doorway she could. He wondered what she’d seen in his eyes, the fierceness in them, but he didn’t particularly care. There was somewhere he had to be. Somewhere he needed to be. Malacoz threw his hood over his light hair and winced… Read more: Lamial and Malacoz, Lakes and Caves.
- I ruined a cake and went to that dark place again.Yesterday, I went back to that place. I was making Texas sheet cake. I looked up the recipe in my email, and it mentioned a name that made my crystal heart fall – hit – shatter. I could feel that pit of dark stars and the echoes of light grow and grow and grow until I was sucked into that place of remembering. The last time I made this cake was for someone else, in a place I now blur out on maps: “there be dragons (and bad dreams) here.” That’s all it is, all it can ever be. Except…… Read more: I ruined a cake and went to that dark place again.
- I lost myself as a girl. And I found myself as a woman.Dedicated to my father, John. Happy birthday daddy-o. You always reminded me of who I really was. This is a story about a girl who lost herself, and the woman who found her. When I was a little girl, I had dreams about another land, and another time. There is one that sticks with me, after all this time. I was young, maybe 5 or 6, when I dreamt that I was in my bed of cabbage roses and a cool light slanted across my eyes, awakening me. I yawned and rubbed my tired eyes, sandman blessings, and walked to… Read more: I lost myself as a girl. And I found myself as a woman.
- Witchy woman…This fruitful, heavenly body is tugging at the womb inside of me, swollen light I guzzle eagerly. I feel the buzz of her beauty in my body, seeping from my pores as luminescence. Harvest Moons and golden-red leaves bring out the witch that has huddled inside my soul with quiet patience until October came to be. She was lost for so long. Grief over losing my father, a marriage, and then a love I left behind – and the girl he knew, as well. But I’m glad to leave her behind. Her darkness overshadowed this crescent moon smile and orb… Read more: Witchy woman…
- Forever or a fling?Perhaps it’s time to face the truth, however unpalatable: maybe I was always meant to be a fling, and never meant for forever. I might be easy to fall in love with, but I know damn well I’m harder to stay in love with. Ask the men who gave me diamonds and pearls. Ask those same men, who tried to bury me in a shallow grave. Ask the men who worshiped me in Yulemas light, impatient fingers and clever tongues, until the candles burnt out, and flickers of darkness licked their souls. Ask them about how they abandoned their posts… Read more: Forever or a fling?
- Why write about love?Here’s one thing I hear quite often: “I notice your writing is mostly about love.” The question there, unasked, is why? There are, of course, all the usual reasons that love is the main subject of many poems, songs, books, plays, paintings, etc.: love is powerful, love is terrible, love is beautiful, love is a wild beast, love inspires, love destroys. It is truly awe inspiring what love can do to a person. How it can break you and remake you. In some ways my story is no different than any others, but in some ways, I think it is.… Read more: Why write about love?
- Faerie Godmother Me!I long to be a love goddess, with raven dark wings, a rose quartz wand, a crown of peonies and magic sizzling like lightning at my fingertips. There is the magic we know, and the magic I crave. The magic we know is intention and rituals, candles and glass jars, obsidian and red salt, moon phases and tarot cards. And yet I yearn for the magic I have dreamt of, where I can make petals unfurl with a flick of my fingers, and send dreams or nightmares with a twitch of my freckled nose. The magic where I can send… Read more: Faerie Godmother Me!
- Burnt GardensWe made a garden, in the beginning. It started with a few precious seeds and bulbs. We gently patted them into the freshly turned earth and linked hands lovingly over the soil. We planted flowers, but more than that: love, hope, beauty, dreams. They were so tender, and precious. Our warm welcome tears watered them – tears of hearts met and fairytales found. It was… it was beautiful. Even without the blooms, it was beautiful. It was a promise. And it grew into our own magical place, a piece of the world where pain and fear disappeared. And it was… Read more: Burnt Gardens
- Hades Did You Choose Me?Hades, did you choose me? They said you took me against my will. But darling I knew you watched me from your purple bruised shadows. Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think that I trailed my fingers over my thighs for myself (although, sometimes I did that too)? When I pushed the ivory dress down over my flared hips, imagining I could feel your cool lips at the juncture of my thighs… I knew you watched, gripping the tree until the bark dug into your palms and made them bleed. When I danced in the clearing with flower… Read more: Hades Did You Choose Me?
- Dear ______,Dear _______, I can’t believe it’s been a year or so since I’ve seen you. It feels like I can bring you to my mind as if I just saw you yesterday, but it also feels like I haven’t been near you in years. I thought I should leave you alone unless you came to me. And I won’t blame you if you don’t. Ever. But these words need to be set free. Hushed whispers in spring slumber. You watched the light on curves and valleys, clenched your teeth, crescent moons in your palms, the need to devour a roaring… Read more: Dear ______,
- Don’t tangle with friends and exes…I think the title sums it up nicely. – “Don’t tangle with friends and exes” especially when they’re both. Dark hair, quiet lilac eyes behind glasses. Bare skin, starlight freckles, a spill of lamplight on golden hair. I seduced, black lace in my teeth, ink into the emptiness of want and desire, of freedom and torturous pleasure. I should have bound my hands with ribbon, and bit my lip until I tasted blood. I should have listened to the nightingales singing songs of truth, of unforgivable love, never forgotten words and touch. You didn’t feel like him. And that’s what… Read more: Don’t tangle with friends and exes…
- An empath, or just broken?I wrote this in a mood of deep exhaustion, sorrow and burnout. People do tend to unload on me as a massage therapist and an “empath” – but I fucking hate that word so I don’t use it. And perhaps I’m not that, but just traumatized and shattered. Maybe we’ll never know. So this is a sad one, a dark one, and writing it helped me breathe a little bit easier. I asked for your pain. You were huddled on the sand as the sun sank below the horizon, dyeing the sky, and our skin, with lavender love, pink naïveté,… Read more: An empath, or just broken?
- What would have happened if…?This is a piece I thought up when I was remembering one particular event that shaped my life, and then I thought of a few other times that changed the path I was on – for the good and for the bad. But in the end I’m proud of the woman I’ve become and the journey that has taken me there. I only regret hurting the people I love, and not being able to save my father. The other times? I’m not sure I would change them. But … here are my thoughts and the major things that made me… Read more: What would have happened if…?
- To The Men Who Couldn’t Love Me –
To The Men Who Couldn’t Love Me, I remember driving in hail and rain, waiting for the storm to break, a letter in my hand that asked only this: why? I wept over dried roses in wine bottles, my tears like dew, and I wondered if I could bring them back to life. I waited for them to plump up, to become satin soft, whole again: remade. Instead they seemed to shrivel more, disintegrate into ash, as if my tears of salt and sorrow were poison. When my tears slipped down your neck, did the part of you that might… Read more: To The Men Who Couldn’t Love Me – - Letters in 60 years… will you keep them?Would you keep the letters, and memories? Amaranthus flowers drooping over a crystal vase, fingers shaking, because love lies bleeding and I have it in a glass. Young raven wings tremble. One ebony feather drifting down to rest, I wonder if these wings will still fly, if I try. Is it will I try, or when? I like the skies, how they hold me weightless even as I try to collect the stars in a jar. I need the light. The dark breathes your name, sometimes in crooning murmurs that stroke my cheek, and sometimes in throaty growls that make… Read more: Letters in 60 years… will you keep them?
- I miss you, Elf-friend.I miss having you as my friend. No one could make me laugh like you could. I’d jump up on a bench and sing Newsies while you watched and shook your head in amused exasperation. We’d climb on junglegyms and crawl through tunnels. You’d chase me, and tackle me, until I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I’d say something so asinine that you’d just stare at me like I’d grown two heads, correct me sarcastically, and then I’d burst into embarrassed giggles – but you never made me feel stupid, somehow. You brought out the fun in… Read more: I miss you, Elf-friend.
- Aphrodite’s pupil and handmaiden.
(I wrote this a year ago in the midst of deep healing. I am a witch and my patron goddess is Aphrodite herself. I love her dearly. And I have ALWAYS loved love and romance. So let’s learn from her, let us love and be loved. At the moment I am feeling a little overwhelmed by the world, a little aloft rather than with my feet on the ground. And that’s ok, because I’ll write, and I’ll love. I always will.) Aphrodite, goddess / queen / warrior / teacher. Have you always been with me? Was it you who bent… Read more: Aphrodite’s pupil and handmaiden. - The Sailor, the Sea, and Me.
(I had the idea for this this while on a ghost tour in Saint Augustine, Fl. The ghost tour guide, Dahlia, told all of us about a woman who became involved in bootlegging alcohol. She would walk to the widow’s walk each night and light a lantern to let the people of the town know it was safe to come to her inn, The Casablanca Inn, and drink. But one day she fell in love, and her man was lost at sea. She began to go each night to the widow’s walk and hold her lantern aloft for her him,… Read more: The Sailor, the Sea, and Me. - I love me, I just don’t know if anyone else can… but I have hope.I wrote this this morning. I’ve done a lot of healing from my own wounds and others. I’ve grown a lot in my spiritual practice. And still, it’s a blow to my pride when old habits and ego take over. My first instinct when in pain is to run and hide, like a wild animal. I self sabotage and poke holes into things until I’ve ruined them with my own mutilation. I don’t want to do this, don’t want to be this. I’ve grown and I’m still growing. I’ve learned to love myself, but at times it’s hard to understand… Read more: I love me, I just don’t know if anyone else can… but I have hope.
- Sunlight – an old poem, revisited.Sometimes I go through my writing and fondly remember something I have written, wallow in the remembrance, and leave feeling lighter. So here’s one for you. I wrote this in a dark place. I was with my last ex and we were fighting, always fighting. I was so tired of dark rooms and tears. I was so sick of the person I was at that time. I was so sick of the shouting and the lies. I was so sick of cold eyes. And so I remembered a love that was more like summer and sunlight. I remembered, and I… Read more: Sunlight – an old poem, revisited.
- Thoughts and tears, let’s cry and journal.TW: addiction, suicide, suicidal ideation, mental health. As a massage therapist, I see a lot of people. And I like to think I make their day a little more bright and a little less painful. But my favorite part of the job isn’t the actual massage; it’s when my clients feel they can open up to me. In the past week and a half I’ve had 4 clients open up to me about addiction, mental health, and grief. The interesting thing is, they don’t know anything about my story or who I am. They don’t know that I’m bipolar 1,… Read more: Thoughts and tears, let’s cry and journal.
- Icy castle wallsWinter makes me ache for spring. I don’t feel like myself until the crocuses bloom and I can feel the sting of sun on my skin once more. And every year it’s the same. The winter comes and I retreat. I go deep into the ground, and slumber with the dreams of green seeds and the wishes of flowers rooting at the feet of trees, skeletal longing. And every year it’s the same. I am sorry to the world for my quiet voice and the way I, Druid-like, retreat to a cave of silence. I am muffled, in the soil.… Read more: Icy castle walls
- Am I forgettable, dear friend?
My dearest friend, Tell me… do you ever feel forgettable? I don’t mean the kind of forgetting where it’s amnesia like, and you’re just a hollowed out version of a girl they can no longer recall. I mean that slow sort of forgetting, where you fade like the roses in a bridal bouquet, once young and in bloom, now just crumbled petals in an empty journal, cut out photos and a heart harpooned. But I guess to them it was just another day in June. Darling, do you know how many men have slid to my feet and said those… Read more: Am I forgettable, dear friend? - Aphrodite and an Effigy
I still think of you sometimes, when the moon swells in the sky, and I wonder if you might see her radiance too. Do you notice her incandescence, her luminosity? Or do you think only of the men who breached her secrets and left their mark to prove they discovered her? She was her own, long before anyone walked her surface, and took from her mystery. She will forever be numinous, to me, to the ancients that were. Venus dahlia heart, that you cupped in your hands and traced with your teeth. My wings quivered in reaction, in attraction, amazed… Read more: Aphrodite and an Effigy - Oh, I am sorry.I’m sorry. I have apologies to make, to the people I loved, and to the people I didn’t. Peony hearts don’t thrive on blood, despite what I heard from the cruel witch in the forest. I nearly let it die, soaked in rouge. I mistook that warmth for life, even as petals withered and curled in death. I was wrong. I’m sorry to my Warrior Father. I wish I could have used divination to see the cancer before it took hold. I wish I’d told you more often how much I loved and admired you. Do you swim with the… Read more: Oh, I am sorry.
- Goodbye panther.
An oldie but a goodie. Woot! Read on dear ones… “I have to let you go.” My voice sounds strange, a whisper through hollow and bleached bones. I have crushed the conch shell of my heart with black combat boots, smashing it again and again until only pale pink and white pieces remain. He blinks up at me with liquid ink eyes. “What are you talking about? Why?” His fingers reach out for me, tangling within the indigo fabric of my dress, trying to pull me closer. Instead I step back, tearing a tiny piece of a floral pattern off… Read more: Goodbye panther. - Rambles on a rainy day.
It doesn’t feel like December. Misty rain, here and then gone, seems to cover everything in a somber haze that’s quite appropriate for a grey day like today. Where is the snow? The red cheeks and the hot cocoa? The fingers held to the fire as Christmas music plays and your family laughs in the background, all merriment? I miss my family so much. Dad would have hated a day like today. He definitely hated winter, but he could appreciate it in the joyful month of December. He would have said he’d been cheated, and grumbled about the possible snow… Read more: Rambles on a rainy day. - Untamed unicorn.
You heard tell of the wild and mythical mare, with the spiraling opal horn and emerald eyes. The unicorn that no man could tame. The legend that every night she turned into a woman, with nacreous skin and gemstone irises. They thought to bring her to her knees and make her submit. They knew little of her strength, or her fierce magic, although they feared her horn, and the way it might split their chest open like rotted fruit. Because of this, many stayed away. But some… well, some just couldn’t resist the challenge. They came with swords. They came… Read more: Untamed unicorn. - Kisses in the garden
Our time is over, my dear. It’s long past. But in my dreams I am on the stairs, studying a grand ballroom. I watch the men and women twirl and laugh, how the women sip lemonade and move their fans demurely to cover how their faces flush with desire, how the men smirk and… hunger. I wear my hair up, curls framing my face. My dress falls to the floor in a shimmer of lovely cobalt, silk gloves in white, jewels that glint at my throat. I can’t see you. Are you here? Will you come? Will you take my… Read more: Kisses in the garden - I don’t want a love in grottos and hollowsI don’t want a love like Romeo and Juliet, a crash and burn of angst and loss, love at first sight taken, no sooner discarded when another goddess descends to earth on golden slippers and silk trappings. Poisons and pain. No, darling, I’ve never asked for that. I don’t want the love of two wyverns snapping, coiling, striking. The glory of blood around my neck. The bruises on my wrist burning dark blue. A collision of comets, and caresses. Fangs sinking into my throat, scales to smash my vulnerable heart – kill shot. Retaliation. How I learned to love the… Read more: I don’t want a love in grottos and hollows
- A Little Intro!My name is Elisabeth, and I’ve been telling stories my whole life. I love to make people laugh, or to cry. I love to watch their eyes go soft with dreams as I continue to spin them into my tales. Before I encountered love, I yearned for it. I wrote about handsome princes and unicorns, dragons guarding the damsel in her tower, the handsome knights who would do anything and everything to win her heart. I wanted love so badly that it ached. When I was bullied as a child, I retreated into the jungle-like woods and told myself stories… Read more: A Little Intro!
- What the World Sees vs. Who I Am…What the world sees versus who I am are different things. And let me tell you – I’ve been a muse, and a faerie, and a goddamn goddess on a sandcastle pedestal (waves of reality and reaction washed it away). I’m none of those. And all of those. And more than you think. You see a silly, ditzy faerie girl. “Aw look at her wings and her elf ears! Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes slide to the side as she smiles with subtle saccharine syrup. What a free spirit with all those tattoos and that nose ring and… Read more: What the World Sees vs. Who I Am…
Elisabeth Writing 