bracing for impact

The curled white hind paws of my cat are bracing to run or for impact

        fight or  f l  i    g      h        t

she sits, unbothered, when I step over her in the stairwell

but flinches when I brush her leg softly with my fingers

I passively wonder why she learned to fear gentleness more than imminent danger

and is she the only one?

unreachable, therefore unreached

A light shining in a place unreachable without effort

will remain left on too long until it burns out

11.11.2025

autumn bleeds into winter as the warm embrace of ochres and vermillions
gives way to the blinding gleam of snow

and through the crunching of leaves immortalized in ice underfoot,
I am twenty-two versions of myself at once,
each one caught between an autumnal chill and a wintry freeze
which kept her from blossoming into eternal spring

mother, Moon

As moonlight pours, silvery and magical, over the windowsill

I am tethered to my child self who made promises to its mother, the moon,
and cup my hands in its grandeur to reflect in the way it softens me
under my own unforgiving gaze



If the moon were my mother, my sister, and my home,
would she be kind to me?
Would I remain twelve years old, complete, unaching?



Her craters would cradle my weary bones,
her cold surface warmed by my cheek pressing upon it,
and I would sing her false songs about her astral beauty
because I could never betray her maternal care
by telling her that she will never be as beautiful as the sun.

shaven

the clumps of hair once caught in the razor’s edge slip quietly down the drain

as smoothly as my bare legs glide across the sateen sheets at night

both are beautiful, ephemeral, quick to be forgotten



when the itch comes, it comes all at once

as pinpricks of betrayal awaken across my flesh

as though saying You cannot stay this way forever

Your beauty is manufactured and so is this existence



and when the blood blooms red and metallic under my fingernails

there is no softness left beneath my hands

except for the pulsing warmth of the wound

Welcome to my blog

Hello and welcome, reader. I hope this page has found you well, whatever that means to you.

This blog will serve as a place for serious and unserious musings. They may be about philosophy, art, cats, dreams, people, the universe, a cup of tea--it need not matter how big or insignificant the subject. It is all worthy of contemplation. 

I have always loved writing. In my childhood, I would write stories on printer paper and then illustrate them. I was fascinated by mythical creatures, so mermaids and fairies often featured in my fantastical fictional words. I like to think that I have never lost that sense of whimsy and magic, and that it seeps into the everyday experiences about which I write poetry. 

As you will soon discover, my writing tends to be personally-focused as it serves as self-reflection and documentation. Art is both healing and protective for me, something which guides me back to myself in moments of loss, confusion, and hardship. 

Having already said more than enough, I now encourage you to go forth and read. 

Sincerely,

Christina