Roots and Wings
I am a mess of contradictions.
In the end, those jagged edges may never fit together into a perfect, cohesive whole. But really, who wants that anyway?
identity
Home in the spaces between
I kept wanting something the world showed me I couldn't have. I wanted someone who'd look at my scars and not look away but call me beautiful. I wanted someone to loosen the knots around my thoughts and know what sort of tapestry they made. I wanted someone to call my own.
To Be Loved Completely
Time is a strange concept. It marches on while parts of me remain firmly planted in the past. It begs the question, who am I, really?