The Blog

And other collections of run-on sentences

I have always identified as a writer

the act of putting all of my deepest thoughts, emotions, and wounds onto paper has forever been my chosen form of communication. even as a child, i would craft letters instead of speaking how i felt out loud. writing has allowed me to come to terms with all that goes on within me; it helps me make sense of what is often endless and overwhelming chatter in my brain. whether it was in the form of school papers, poetry, or sharing the tales of my life, writing has been my therapy. this blog is the home to the innermost caverns of my soul.

my life.
in mini essays.


Look at this stuff! Isn’t it neat?

Holy shit. Is that a horrible way to welcome you to my website?


The moment when you’re 25 and realize you’ve been f*ckboying yourself this whole time

Amongst the baby clothes, childhood stuffed animals, and years and years of A+ papers and assignments, I found what I thought were long lost and forgotten memories that would never resurface.


Me, a preemie postgraduate.

The looming era of COVID-19 has shut universities and colleges around the nation down for about three weeks now, and the anxieties of what life will be looking like once I receive that golden diploma are starting to kick in.


The Not So Easy A

There are days when I can center myself and sort of dismiss it, there are some days where it becomes literally painful to wake up and get out of my bed because of it.


Backroad diary

Almost as if being in the place that created me- literally designed the human I am- is where the creation of this piece of me has begun. It feels symbolic. It feels special.

poems. and other unspoken words.


“big day”

december 10 2018



“hidden treasures?”

september 29 2019



october 21 2019


"Time flies"

september 24 2019


foggy mornings that take my mind back to the first inhale of crisp beach air //

when all I could hear was the sound of your breath like the salty wind in my hair // and the taste of you turned my skin into goosebumps like the first dip into something beautiful and unknown // like the way the wet sand imprints itself onto my pores // the same way the tide blankets its mother with the coming of every moon // you have devoured every inch of who I am