Writings for Winter: what the pen and paper said to the suicidal poet ⇢
We’ll be the great oak whose trunk you cling to
when scaling the branches to rise up from rock bottom
seems harder than just letting go like leaves do before winter sets in.
And there’s never gonna be anything more beautiful than the way
the paper you scrawl poems on is made of that very same…
Writings for Winter: if i could write any letter, it would be addressed to eve, not adam ⇢
Dear Eve, I want to be someone’s rib too so I never have to leave their side.
Dear Eve, I’m sorry the serpent tricked you into eating the forbidden fruit.
If it helps any, I commit the worst sin of all every day.
It’s called “the fact that I exist.”
Not every message in a bottle gets sent to…
Writings for Winter: to the man who wolf-whistled at me on fifth avenue ⇢
If I kept tally marks for every time someone like you objectified me
on the street, I’d have more tally marks on paper
than notches in my bedpost. How’s that for oppression?
My great-grandmother lived for so long in a home covered
with wallpaper containing illustrations of a woman doing…
Writings for Winter: 12 Months of Self-Creation Instead of Self-Destruction (Depression Survival Guide) ⇢
January: When hell seems more comfortable than earth, pack a backpack with food and water for seven days and hit the open road with your thumb stuck out no matter how cold it is outside. For every passing car that refuses to pick you up, remember that reaching your final destination of happiness…
When You Reach the End of Your Rope, Hold On
I need you to know that you can do it on your own, and you will. No matter how long it takes.