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Light as a Feather I am light as a feather, stiff as a board. At least that's how it feels. Sometimes when my heart races and my vision goes fuzzy, I float. The weight of the world gets lifted from my shoulders. For just a brief moment, I am not in pain... Or I can't focus on it. Sometimes, I get lost in the feeling of passing out. I like it when the world goes dark, silent. I like it when I can no longer feel. I hate to admit that. I hate that I have adapted, made the best o

I Remember Everything I fall in love with everyone I meet. My life is like the Hozier song. It doesn't matter if it's their smile, their hair, their demeanor, their presence; I crave it. I crave connection. I long to learn about others. I am fascinated by the art of existence, the art of individuality. Some may call it my best attribute, while others call it my demise; my love for people, for the world, will be the death of me. I often find myself thinking about every soul I

The Sound That Raised Me I get most of my inspiration from music. I mean, that’s kind of a given, considering the fact that I have played the piano since I was 3. By no means am I good, at least not anymore, but I’ve always understood the capabilities of music itself. Of string. I’ve written about this before, but string is one of the most fascinating things to me; the way it can create vibrations, the way it creates the waves of sound that touch your soul. Learning the Rules

A Love for Literature Last semester, I took an English Studies class. We read the book, An Introduction to Literature, Criticism, and Theory, by Bennett and Royle. It served as a guide to our literary studies. Its chapters explored prominent aspects of writing and interpretation. I remember doing a project on the "God" chapter. Here, they analyzed the correlation between the Bible and literature itself. Being one of the first texts, at least, regarding the Old Testament, it

The Stranger I am the stranger I see crossing the street. I share the same atoms as the trees, as the bees. I am the breeze. There is a piece of me in everything I see. I am the universe experiencing itself again for the first time. I am the combustion of my surroundings. I am as free as the ocean. I am as big as the world. I am one with my environment, though I am not grounded in it. Everything belongs to me, though nothing that I see is mine.  Everything, Everywhere I feel

Absence of Words I haven't had the urge to write recently, and I'm not quite sure why. I got back to Charleston last week, so I have been busy. I don't have time to think. I don't have the ability to let my thoughts linger. I have nothing to put on paper. I've been trying to grapple with the feeling of being stuck. I've been trying to understand that I need periods of rest, of grace. I need to let my thoughts go silent. Yet who am I without the motion, without the noise? Who

Coming home is a strange and oddly surreal feeling. I find myself feeling excited about everything and nothing at the same time here. My bedroom is a museum, trapped in a different era in each corner. My walls tell the stories of my teenage years through memories, through photographs. My shelves hold knick-knacks from my early childhood. My closet holds the remnants of everyone I have ever loved. My Time Capsule I still have the clothes my mother saved for me from the 90s bur

The Question I often find myself wondering if all creativity derives from illness, from some form of pain. The need to create coincides with my yearning for a cure. The two cannot be separated, interestingly enough. Does all good come from bad? I wonder. Would my favorite creations be the same if it weren't for the state of my body? For the failed aspects of the medical system? Would I have the same drive if I were given a different purpose? Creative Roots I've found mysel