Every Day We Die a Little

Malalai Kaker I am woven together with silvery fibres of infinite fragility, and deep within my core there is a well of sadness so deep that whenever we lower the bucket into the black abyss, we’re almost always certain that it will never return. My sadness spills over from lifetimes that I can not possibly recall, but it comes always from the same source. Our very nature is swathed in mystery. We have been stifled and silenced, and held down, and sliced open, over and over and over. I gave you my blood and my breath, and for that I… View Post

I’m Flying a Little Too Close to the Sun

Generally speaking I can cruise just high enough above my emotional well to not get seared by the intensity of the fire I’ve been stoking for thirty two years. Every once in a while though, I wake up like any other day, but suddenly feel as though my skin has been peeled back like a banana in the nimble hands of a monkey. Today is one of those days. I imagine it is easy to equate this description with feelings of depression, but I assure you this isn’t the case. It’s actually kind of lovely to be in this space,… View Post

How do you spell hernia?

Perhaps I cracked a rib. Or bruised it. Or pulled a muscle. At any rate, my right side hurts. A lot. Maybe what happened is that I became so full of self-pity that I actually split. Down the side. Just a little. No. More. Sad. And like that it’s done. I know I’m blessed to be able to mostly shake it off so. I know many people who can stay in sad for a long, long while. This gal cannot. I think I’d get too comfortable and end up moving in. Sometimes it’s a really beautiful place. The trees always… View Post

Seriously?! Seriously.

Just when you thought it was safe to comfortably enjoy being alone, all your collective past demons rear their ugly heads in one giant wave of WTF. The universe is throwing things in this general direction that continually serve to illustrate one point, and one point only – my heart is to be kept under glass like a Victorian curiosity under a hand-blown cloche from Denmark. How did I ever believe any of the lies that issued forth from your lips like car exhaust from a bumper to bumper in a mid-July heatwave? I suppose it was for the sake… View Post


Trust in me, just in meShut your eyes and trust in meYou can sleep safe and soundKnowing I am around Slip into silent slumberSail on a silver mistSlowly and surely your sensesWill cease to resist Trust in me, just in meShut your eyes and trust in me