days have been good, recently, but nights hard. my mind sings songs of want & ruin, the dark cruel even to its own desperate ghosts. when the sun comes up things are all right again—impromptu lunch dates, poems scrawled on coffee shop napkins, monsoon season outside the window with the birds sleeping like saints—but the nights. the nights always catch me by the throat. • i’m sharing a poem on thé blog today from one of those more frantic nights, penned in a bit of a fever dream. i haven’t been acutely suicidal in a little while but on one of the nights it did happen, this piece sprung from the ashes. so grateful that it’s found a home in an absolute dream journal, SUNDOG LIT—as well as chosen as first place in the lbtqia+ category of the 2018 @ellisreview
awards. link in bio to read it.
infinitely kind words from judge @erino232
: “‘War Story With My Father’ is luminous in the honesty its narrator speaks with. Lines like ‘If I'm lying / through my teeth, at least I still / have the long way home’ remind us of our own reasoning between who we are and who our families want us to be. Much like how the speaker refers to home as ‘not my father's hands, but / rather, the light they reflect / when burning,’ this poem is the burning and the light.” • thank you for listening, dear friends. i hope you, too, find some light through the darkness in this piece. xx