They say when one door closes a window opens, or something like that…

But I’m not looking for an escape.

I think it would be good for me to allow the doors & windows to remain shut for the time being.

I shall sit in the still air upon my rudimentary wooden chair, staring at the white walls, learning to revel in the silence & solidarity of it all.

I don’t feel sad anymore. I understand.

If I knew then what I know now.

I would be cold one. I would distance myself from your reach.

I would have kept my guard up and protected my fragile heart.

But I didn’t know.

I only felt and reacted. I was too honest and open. I thought you were as well, but I’m a silly girl.

In my anger, I wanted to dedicate a whole post by piecing together the lies you told into a poem. But that feels too pathetic & salty. I was, but not so much anymore; now I’m just wounded.

Parading around as a powerful and confident woman, but truly just a sad little girl with all the petals plucked off of her flower, “he loves me not and never intended to…”

My Brand of Crazy

I have a verrrrry particular brand of bitchy. This is not everyone’s niche of nuts, a quite specific style of psycho, if you will.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Courtroom:

Please, for the love of goddess, stop insisting that you are into “crazy” unless you are prepared for the repercussions. You asked for it?!

Furthermore, don’t claim to be kinky unless you are prepared to prove it.

When I mouth off and act like a sassy little cunt, it’s usually for one of three reasons: I am PMSing, ovulating OR in need of attention. I will say some motherfucking outlandish shit when my hormones are off or if I feel neglected.

Cheat Code: A real good fuck, cuddle, and then snack usually resolves all of attitude problems.


Heart on my (stupid) Sleeve

I’m trying very hard to be gentle with myself. I am struggling because I feel so foolish. I was so exposed and vulnerable. I have never bared my raw soul so soon.

I made a mistake; I wholly gave my trust to a stranger and he wasn’t worthy.

It never happens like this; I am usually so much more vigilant. I don’t give away little pieces of my heart so carelessly.

He felt different; I felt different.

But I was wrong.


“Not like all those other guys…”

“Looking for the real thing…”

“But I’m different…”

Are you really?

No. No, you aren’t. You are all pretty much exactly the same.

Why do I have such trust issues? Because none of you have ever been worth the trust or effort.

Why do I fuck with the worst types of manipulators?


I noticed a random, oddly named account on Instagram regularly watching my stories. I clicked on the profile and noticed that they had zero posts and zero followers and that they were only following three accounts.

I switched profiles to my art account and noticed that they were following me there… I am two out of three total followed accounts.

I sent a playful message to try and inquire as to who this mystery voyeur is and they left me on read. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t like that…

So I blocked them on both accounts.

Now whoever would go through the hassle of creating an Instagram profile to creep on me? I’m nearly flattered, just nearly. But still creeped out.

Anyways, I can imagine that if you’d create an Instagram profile to see me, then you are probably reading this blog, too… because the statistics show me that people are… but one particular watcher is quite diligent.

Jumped the Gun

I truly don’t get that turn of phrase, but I just did whatever it is… I met someone who felt like my matching puzzle piece and POW!……..Gun went off too soon… (you fellas know what I am talking about, right? lol…kidding)

If you have ever seen the movie Practical Magic, then hopefully you remember the scene where the young Sally attempts a true love spell for her ideal man. I have always been enthralled with magic so ten year old myself set out to cast my very own Amas Veritas. I was going to conjure up true love. (knuckle crack)

He would be brave, honest, strong and handsome…a hero maybe? His favorite colors would be pink and green (because those were my favorite colors at the time and that is important to a ten year old). He could draw like an artist and still be secretly good at math. But he would also be musical because I was a singer in need of a musician (eye roll).

If you would have asked me yesterday, only nine days in, I would have told you that I thought the spell had actually worked. On the other side of the planet, another ten year old was already growing into a man prepared to carry all of those desires and so many more on his perfect, broad shoulders.

I have never been so boldly honest nor seen such vulnerability reciprocated with ease. Conversing and laughing for hours, we poured our souls between these vessels like blending a perfect wine. I had never laughed or connected or fucked or felt adored or been heard like this. I wanted to keep him forever. And he told me everyday– over and over for the first nine days– about how he felt the same, t’was a whirlwind romance for certain.

But in the last twelve hours, he took a ginormous step backward and behind the opinion of his baby mama. He has drama and history, just like I do, but I thought we were on the same page. Suddenly so many of the things that we discussed and were excited about were brushed away with hints of “what would she think”…

I can’t compete with the mother of your child. And I don’t ever want to. And so the reality that I feared feels all too real. I should protect my heart and step the fuck back.

Do I stop the connection altogether because I know that I will get wrapped up in him? I am seeking peace, not drama or heartache. I am too old for half-assed attempts. I honestly thought that we were both too caught up, but his raw fearlessness made me feel brave. Reality has finally hit and I won’t play second chair to anyone, especially an ex-lover.

Do I step back and keep seeing him while doing the casual dating thing? Of course, I would tell him. But I deleted all of my dating profiles after like four days for this guys (unheard of!)… And honestly, I kinda hated casual dating, I was just meeting people in search of my person.

It sucks when you think you found them, but pieces of their soul still belongs to someone else. I guess who am I to talk?

I was too excited to meet someone extraordinary, but there can only be one for me. And I don’t like to share.


We tend to measure the value of our relationships by time.

If we spend a great length of time with someone, then the relationship must’ve been important or successful. In that same sentiment, if a relationship lasts for a short period, then it must hold less worth or be less valuable.

My baby soul sister, Bradi, is kind, deep, & wise far beyond her twenty-one earthly years. In fact, she has only been in my life for about one & a half years. Yet she has affected & changed me in so many positive and important ways.

One of the greatest golden nuggets of insight that she has ever bestowed was this: relationships, love & life are made of experiences. They are supposed to be temporary.

Part of the human condition is that it ends. All of it. And we never know when or how long we have.

So the important stuff boils down to: the moments that changed you, little lumps of collected minutes where joy shined from the inside, the times you were raw, honest, and vulnerable no matter the response, the times where you persevered through your fear and came out better for the effort: the experiences, no matter how fleeting.


I am salt.

I add flavor to just about anyone; I mix & mingle with ease.

Now don’t get used to me or you may want too much. And then you’ll end up bloated with high blood pressure.

You only need a dash because I can be overwhelming sometimes. But I’m a great addition to something savory and I’ll even enhance your sweetness.

But salt is a just seasoning & could never be sustenance.

Too Much

Hindsight is 20/20 and 2020 has been pretty shitty all around, just like my attitude.

This blog is my safe space. It is not for considering your feelings. It is for expressing mine. If my feelings will impact yours, then avert your eyes because I will carelessly puke out a bit of honesty about myself without hesitation all over this page. This is your warning henceforth.

I think I have been drinking too much lately, forever seeking that familiar numbness. See, I fucking love self-sabotage; it is safer than actually trying and then failing.

Self-realization is such a bitch; in addition to being impatient and impulsive, it turns out that I am reactive and petty. When I feel triggered or neglected, I lash out in a negative manner. I look back, usually the next day (sometimes it takes me two days) and feel so ashamed. Then I spiral overthinking about everything that I did and said. Isn’t that so healthy?


I am jaded at the thought of love. So much that I’m not even sure if it is something that I want anymore, at least not romantically. I have the real enduring love of my friends and family. Partners & lovers of the sort are just waiting to disappoint.

I’ve never had a young soul, but now my heart and mind have both slightly aged as well. There are hints of real wisdom starting to form. I can’t full-heartedly throw myself onto a situation like I did in my youth. I now belong to me first. I want to belong to me first; I lost myself before when I didn’t.