She says, "Kneel." And I do. Not because I must, but because I’ve been waiting for someone who knows how to ask for me like this.
When I find him again,the world will smell like rain and old leavesthe way it did the first day he chose me.There’ll be no thunder, no fanfare,just the soft sound of paws through grassand that tail beating out the rhythm of...
I’m sorry, I’m broken.That’s the disclaimer I carrylike a fragile-stickered box,shipped express through years of fire. I walk in with cracks showing,the kind you try to hide with duct tapeand a joke timed just right.But laughter’s just a band-aidon a bone...
So I’m getting my face cut open— and somehow that’s the good news.* They’re gonna take a sawto this skull I’ve been living in,sand down the man that never fit,and build something closerto the mirror in my mind. Which is wild, right?Like—imagine emailing...
M is for Mommy. M is for Mean. M is for the monster who told me I'm obscene.
She says, "Kneel." And I do. Not because I must, but because I’ve been waiting for someone who knows how to ask for me like this.
They want Pride to be pretty. Pastel. Palatable. Profitable. They want our rainbows to end firmly in the black. They want our glitter to forget it came from ash.
I’m April- a storyteller, space-holder, and believer in second acts. I help people navigate identity, change, and the courage it takes to be seen.
