Circa 2015 To My Poet, I am a cursive body running laps on your notepad telling you the story of how we first met. I am the best type of tickle — a spark that lights your spirit, warmth — like the sound of good morning. I will be bittersweet — the first bite of a fresh peach, the color green, stars dripping — Apogee. I’ve heard my words can make you weak. I speak because your thoughts shriek — bullet holes decorate the page, your brain wants more, and we both know

Circa 2015 I sleep at ease when the scent of last night stitches into my clothes. I breathe, and every past good or bad decision we enacted in moonlight perfumes the room. His fragrance envelopes me. The aroma cloaks and holds shapes: impressions left on the couch, incense coiling to the ceiling, the mint on his lips, the trace of pine he wore home from work, even the planted whiskey kisses that blossom overnight. I watch as mornings rise like the steam ascendin

Circa 2016 There’s a rush that swells your chest and suddenly you discover lust in slow motion. My heart is ripe. It’s ruddy I look at you and I atomize — My heart puckers and pomegranate pulp begins to drip from my ribs. We explore each morning self-confessed, your words Tango about me. It’s passion

Circa 2016 I am from the sun—the inspired spirit, illuminating language like the warm sound of Good Morning. Living and breathing molecular history, I am from the Earth that sits curiously within our natural universe. I am from the trees, growing infinitely with every thought that blossoms. I undress my mind : scattering leaves all behind me, planting seeds on fresh paper. I am from the heart. Ripe, wild and alive – Write all the words that make us think.

Circa 2017 Just run with it, like you would with a pangram but expand your alphabet and use the inexplicable thoughts that erupt from your volcanic mind. Get messy. You need to learn how to dance before you can fight: communication is your weapon, words are your ammunition. Fire. Learn to live like a verb, you are not a noun. You are in constant motion because existence is a fractalized condition. Language is subject to evolution. Learn to flirt with paradox. It’s

Cumulonimbus tidal waves blanket the sky like an overcast of clean bed sheets calming you into a dream. It’s a lot like having your head in the clouds, but you’re still grounded, rooted like a white orchid – a delicate luxury. And it’s an astonishing thing: the feeling of snow on phantom limbs. It makes you wonder if the Eskimos had a word for the sensation – somewhere in between shock and silk, faux fur and ice. It must feel nice – like fingering pages of a not

I am one of five girls, and I am the only one among my sisters who isn’t white. Growing up, I was rarely self-conscious of my skin color, barely aware that less than twenty-five percent of my African descent would have such an impact on my existence, let alone my identity. On state-regulated exams, I checked “other” under demographic, otherwise I would be confined by my race and its implication. I was confounded to call myself American because, surely, I didn’t grow up that

On Saturday, April 29th, 2017, FIGMENT Project returned to Windsor Lake in North Adams for its second year of creative community collaboration. FIGMENT North Adams is a free, one-day participatory arts event that catalyzes and celebrates an abundance of creativity and passion. FIGMENT Project aspires to challenge artists and our communities to discovers new ways to create, share, and think together. In support of this mission, my submitted project, the Creativity Capsule, inv

Turquoise water ripples around your ankles. The translucent hue of blue is vibrant and persuades you to step further into the depths. Your feet, sliding into the sediments, begin to investigate the sand smuggling between your toes. You notice fish swimming fast, and the sun refracting off their scales reminds you of needles sewing silk. Surrounding you is a wealth of greenery. The trees are ever expanding their branches, competing for the sun to kiss their leaves. It’s marvel

The fractal /ˈfræktəl/ is a chaotic phenomenon. A geometrical structure having an irregular or fragmented shape at all scales of measurement between the greatest and smallest degree such that certain mathematical properties of the structure, as the perimeter or flow rate in a porous medium, behave as if the fractal dimensions of the structure are greater than the spatial dimensions. Fractals are useful in modeling structures: sunflowers, eroded coastlines, snowflakes,