Tu mi chiami: terrone e mafiusu…ma nun ta scuddari mai ca’ u cuori ca’ iavi n'sicilianu nun allavi nuddu!
—  You call me a southerner, a terror, and a mobster. But never forget, a heart of a Sicilian, no one else has!
You are the Moon

I will set the mirror up to face the blackened sky; you will see your beauty every moment that you rise - The Hush Sound

We’re not ashamed
that we live for the green. It makes us
better people, stronger
women, ladies
able to access the inner depths
of our minds and get a tight
grip on what the music
means to us. We
lay there, heads
soaring - dreams so close
to the stars that we dub them
inconceivable, sometimes unreachable,
hating ourselves for thinking
the world will be such an easy place
to settle ourselves into
once we’re grown.

I once doubted every
ounce of liquid and bone
that made me
me. My partner
made me solid.

I find refuge in the room
across the kitchen
in my four bedroom apartment,
the one
that reeks of incense
and fruity perfume. She sleeps
soundly in the softest
of sheets and I know, when she
does, she’s safe inside
her own head. She gets lost
in the dark without a flashlight
just as easily as I do,
but there’s something about the way
she holds a burning candle
that proves

the weight of the world and
our distance from the stars
could never hold a flame
to her majesty.

If I fail in this life, there’s one
phone call I would make. There are
four words I would say
for one voice to hear:

Allavie, you were wrong.

It’s comforting to know
she doesn’t wait by the phone. She
lays down with wide eyes more blue
than the ocean surrounding
Paradise Island and she stares
and sinks into me, seeing
everything my blind brown beings
would never believe.

Together, we soar and reflect
beauty off of one another. What I see
in blue, she dreams of in
my brown. And it’s not just
because we believe in the green -
it’s something purple, red
when kissed with oxygen; she loves
every ounce of the fluids
that make me me. And the dearest
of flesh is the skin
of sweet Allavie.


They eat away at my


I can’t handle the


my thoughts are so loud

I forget to breath

when the fear consumes 


He notices, and says “relax”


If he only knew these past burdens on my sholders

then maybe

he would understand

why I can’t seem to