In an unforgiving light, the kind that bleaches the façade of wellness from my color, he says I love you. My skin is starting to translucence, just enough that in a light like this you can see how it has been carrying around this life for almost forty years, how it is tired. Who wouldn’t be? This life is a fat cat in a basket. … Continue reading journals 2.14
Today’s been a lot like a pregnant and laboring octopus– an eight-legged creature full of thousands of different lives that kept bursting into existence all at once. It contained multitudes, and time and direction seemed even less real than normal, and so here we are. It’s 11pm ish and I haven’t written anything or even tried. The majority of votes on my blog poll last … Continue reading mush
My love boomerangs and shapeshifts, and hovers like goosebumps leapt out of my skin. My love’s scratched up like a record that skips as well as it croons, like a window that can’t quite stay open but tries, like hardwood floors that the dogs are allowed to dance on now. My love gets growing pains, and cricks in the neck from holding up dreams, and … Continue reading yellow / love like
When I can’t quite build a thought out into something solid enough for this blog, I will often post it to Instagram with the tag #LilliputianLog. The last weeks have seen a few of those posts so I thought I’d share two here for those who aren’t on the other platform. [For those who are on Instagram, and follow me at @rawra.avis : I now … Continue reading being excellent to each other
Freeze your love for safe-keeping.
Call it grief. Continue reading poem: spoon by spoon
For love, and how it is the first thing to greet me anywhere I go. For my freedom For my family, and the ridiculously long group texts that keep us connected. For my every day people who are there through for the boring Thursday and the traumatic Mondays alike. For patrons of finance and spirit who never ever seem to believe that maybe I will … Continue reading fifty happy things
Or, “An Overly-Accurate Dating Profile” I make my own hummus. I have about five go-to variations. It’s not that I love hummus. In truth, I’d prefer salsa and chips, or veggies and ranch, or crisp celery dolloped with peanut butter. I just like making hummus. It’s a hobby. I also write a blog. It’s like a Captain’s Log from a really bad space saga, where … Continue reading hummus is the only perk
I don’t remember learning how to love, originally. I only remember the origins of little love-habits. I remember holding onto my stuffed elephant, tucked safely in my right arm always– a light grey beast with pink-tinted ears. He must’ve been a foot tall, if he could have stood on his own, but he couldn’t. He needed me. His fur was worn down, paper thin, from … Continue reading you are loved, in the active voice.