What harms me

What harms me

I’m making amends with my tattered edges, and struggling to identify a world in which respect is the standard. 

It’s not hard to imagine what it could feel like to be respected, but it still seems unlikely in most interactions.

After a year of single I can identify that dancing and floor weeping myself through sad and exhausted is my ascent to sovereignty. 

It’s far from ideal.

But that’s the story women in my family carry. 

Probably most women in most families.


There’s resilience that comes after accepting my exhaustion is the byproduct of overextending myself, and sad is just the right feeling to visit most of the time these days. You could pick lots of reasons yourself, I'm sure of it


Accepting my power comes only when I enforce the boundaries I already know internally. With others and with myself. My heart speaks loud but it lived speaking the language of hurt for so long that sometimes there's dissonance.

Static noise.

I'm an intuitive, but if you ask any other ones worth trusting, it's pretty difficult to read for yourself. 

The stars need each other to make up constellations, otherwise the night sky is just one twinkle instead of a symphony of glitter blinks.

I know the sky I would rather look up at.


Convincing people that lying isn’t acceptable courting behaviour makes me want punch their mouths. Harder than I probably can.

I’m not super interested in becoming smaller again. Lies make me feel like I’m in a cage that wants me to accept less power than I actually have access to.

It’s not really possible anymore.

The whole you can’t unsee what you see in yourself. Good and bad.

I used to live in the places where I only saw the ways my insecurities made me into a creature, something that came alive at night, in bars usually, but sometimes house parties, too.

There were lots of folks who folded into my hurt to protect their own. They heard the siren song I didn’t know I was singing.


I don't struggle to see my wounds, I don't need anyone to tell me what's unloveable in me, but I do struggle to adjust to their wild pulses without people around to see me.

Sometimes the screams in my body are so big that all I can do is dance for hours. I love dancing, don't get me wrong, but it's survival on many days.

Or it starts there, it brings me back to joy.

But there are so many feelings between despair and joy and dancing alone isn't the best way to make friends.

I can't always see my power even though theres's evidence everywhere.


I know my wounds, so do you probably. I think they're pretty human. I'm not super shy about them. I don't get embarrassed to tell you how much I hurt and grieve, but I do get embarrassed when that's met with opinion, instead of grace.

Many of my feelings have been exacerbated/amplified by inadequate response to terrible things, so sometimes my inside feelings are disproportionate to my outside reality. 

Unfortunately, I think that's pretty human.

I do my best now to make those feelings into something worthwhile. Something useful, instead of destructive. 

I don't always get it right.

But I guess, with my spirit anyways, doing the wrong thing is the right way to learn the lesson.

I do wish my learning hurt less people, though. 


I want be loved and seen and helped, and to experience my life all the ways it visits. 

I don’t want to get trapped in the pits that my mind takes me to, but it's good to remember they’re there, so I can ask my community to remind me about how to remember myself when I just can’t get out of there alone.

It happens. We all need people. 

I'm getting better at remembering this for myself, and not just telling other people to do it.


I like to imagine a world where we're given room to be human before we have to ask for humanity.


The wild bucking ones.

The silent cracking ones.

The rejected, dejected terrified ones.

The freedom holding handsome ones.

What harms me remains negotiable in almost every interaction with men, and more straight women then I want to tell you about. 

I don't know how to stop being angry about that, yet.

I don't know if I should stop.

But I also do know that the constant fire breathing burns just as much inside as it does out, and bodies have limits, hearts have needs, and dragons have a hard time finding other dragons.

Not everyone believes in magic, so not everyone can see it. And I think a lot of times I just look breathless and ignorant.

Sometimes I am. And the hardest thing about that is, usually I don't know until later.


What walks between me and my past isn't always helpful for the future, but I'm learning to love what fights loud for love.

I'm learning to love.

Thank you for being here with me as I stumble and call it dancing.


Dear fear of failure:

Dear fear of failure: