Narration of Blog can be found here:
This is a love letter that somehow transforms into a grief letter. This is a grief letter that still hopes to be a love letter to you, dear reader. …
There are two quotes that I keep close to my heart and revisit before I begin teaching a math lesson. I don’t always say them, sometimes I recite them in my head less than perfectly, but they are always present in my actions and choices.
The first: “I have never…
You were hearing voices. They speak to you. In these between times. What are they saying to you? I would like to know as well. But maybe, just like everything else in this relationship, the voices are fleeting, they are ephemeral.
What did it take for you to come here?
by: Sara Rezvi
There is something ascendant inside of me
And in all the beautiful women in my life
Who tend to broken things with kindness ~
The shoreline that I have been walking has been rocky, full of wounds and debris.
The stars are coming out tonight
(I have Complex PTSD due to years of anxiety, trauma, and abuse. Here is a guidebook that can help folks who are trying to help me right now due to my father’s recent passing. Thank you for bearing witness and for loving me. Half the time, I do not know…
I gave birth to grief last night
A raw and leathery thing
Scaly claws emerging
from a womb
that has never held life
Where does all this grief go?
How much more
Will continue sliding out of me?
I must count out enough rags
To wipe up all this mess
The grief undulates
a moving living creature
it is monstrous
My throat makes
A keening choking noise
are you lost?
where did you go?
What is fear?
Fear is this snake in my stomach
A roiling, writhing mess
A measured watching and waiting
The coiled viper waiting to strike
I am exhausted and so worn
I am waiting for the clamor of bells
A hope that the house I have built
Extends beyond these four…
Hope is a discipline ~ Mariame Kaba
When I think of the word ‘discipline’, two meanings come to mind. The first — a practice, a commitment, a promise to keep at it even in spite of precarity and austerity. Not the gimmicky kind, the one that has a veneer of…
I have words but I don’t know where to put them
I have silence but don’t know how to stay still
I have rage but only these smoky ruins remain
Shall I wrap them softly?
Swaddled in burnt ember?
Somewhere in the crawl space of my heart
I keep these words