It’s My Birthday. Will the Growing Pains Subside?

To find your balance, master the art of gratitude.

Growing Flowers from the Wounds

I am every jagged edge of rock waiting to be climbed; to see what’s beyond.

When childhood memories are erased, a piece of the soul is thrown away.

It whispers the ugliest words, echoes of those who hurt the tenderness in us.

Imitation is not the best form of flattery. It is the worst form of unoriginality.

The photons call out in desperation, for the body to pay attention.

Running my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes.

Depression becomes the battle that we fight with ourselves. Which side of our willpower will win?

This passage from my memoir "Cult Child" discusses a near-death experience I had when I was five years old.

Don’t store the detritus in your body. It will mire down your feet.

I can only sit and observe the winding streets of your hurt.