You say that I speak of (my) darkness too much.

With my heart stripped bare before your eyes,

I stand,

my shadows a gift for the

searching ones.

Don’t you know that light that shines too brightly,


This is how we heal.

Your story belongs to all of us.

Speak through the pain,

and lay bare the thing that would

strangle you.

Give words to your shame.

It is not yours to carry,


This is how we heal each other.

—This is how we heal.


When did we decide

that the worth of another

human being,

lies in the amount of melanin in their skin?

We must undo this evil.

Talk to me of old love.

We talk of young love

as if it’s the only love that matters.

Those heady days fade.


No, talk to me about old love.

With its gentle patina of well-worn comfort.

Of another, knowing your thoughts,

knowing what makes your heart race with joy,

laying down dreams so you can find yours.

Talk to me of choosing the same one,

over and over,

and over;

even when it’s hard.

And one day to finally have our hands untwined by


– Talk to me of old love.



How can you compare yourself to another?

Find yourself wanting;

declare yourself ‘not enough‘?

Do you not know that you are born of the same celestial breath;

bones fused together in secret places,

from the same ancient stardust?


— Stardust





What if.

What if,

you fought a war for yourself,

instead of with yourself?

What if,

you used the words you speak to yourself, as a veil of kindness with which to cover your nakedness?

What if,

you ate each meal with quiet gratitude, instead of it being a critical litany of fat grams?

What if,

you allow the next dessert to be a sweet reminder of the good in life, instead of reducing yourself to one word: ‘bad‘?

What if,

you wore that bright red lipstick, that purple shirt, that floral dress; regardless of what the fashion industry says is suitable for someone of your colour, skin tone, size, age, gender?

What if,

you chose yourself every, single day.

What if…