There’s a kind of ache in reading old writing and remembering the girl who wrote them. Remembering the self-abandonment. Remembering the hurt and shame. Remembering the people I once cared for so deeply who inspired these words. As I’m writing new poems, I can sense within myself a newfound emotional strength and clarity, but with just the same passion, because as we all know, I’ve always felt things deeply. And I always will. Anyway — here’s some poems from my second collection. Hope you read, hope you enjoy. Maybe I’ll post new poems soon? 🤍