this is a piece about what survival can start to cost when it goes on too long. about loving someone while slowly disappearing beside them. about the quiet moments no one talks about, the ones that don’t look like breaking but are. it’s not pretty, not softened. just real. if you’ve ever felt yourself slipping away in silence while someone you love watched and didn’t know how to stop it… this is for you.

The true beauty of the Caribbean lies in the grit, the soul, and the unwavering resilience of its people.

I wrote this from the middle of it— not after healing, not after closure— but while I was still unraveling in real time. This is what it feels like when love starts slipping through your hands and you don’t know if you’re losing them or losing yourself trying to hold on.

I could write a book on just how we met alone. The spinning wheel, on this day, spent on me, and you told Papa I was a goal driven wreath. So I’m here to bring you luck, but this time I left no room. I left no room for no “‘til deaths do us apart” because I ain’t dying too soon.

This wasn’t written from clarity. It was written while I was in the middle of it... trying to figure out what love actually is and what I’ve been calling love just because it stayed. This is me dealing with my own shit. Realizing some things don’t need to be fixed… they need to be ended.

We throw around words like “jealous” every day—but what if we’ve been using it wrong all along? And what if that mistake is shaping how we see people, conflict, and even ourselves?

Something unusual happened in an academic exchange I have been involved in this week. A scholar I have been evaluating read my critique carefully, summarized it accurately, and then chose not to answer it. That is more interesting than if he had simply missed the point.

Studies have shown that 1 out of 5 women are infertile, at the same time 1 out of 4 women have found themselves in toxic relationships, I created this poem to illustrate the sad story of many women out there, This is the story Mrs. Balcom, a fictional character that meets these problems & has the urge to escape them.

This is a biography I did when I started to feel like my relationship with people was useless in a sense.

Content Warning: This poem discusses self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please prioritize your well-being before reading. This piece symbolizes my internal struggle with the desire to give up and the eventual journey toward overcoming it. I hope it resonates with you. <3

This is my most recent poem ! It explores the emotional struggle of silencing one’s own perspective to gain validation from an overwhelming parental figure. It captures the exhausting, submissive, and often lonely experience of sacrificing personal truth to feel recognized. I just hope you guys can relate to it seeing as how close it is to home <3

This writing is reflection of the few days I spent in the psych ward after a phase of overdose. enoy the read.

You view the ocean, you see beauty I see the color of a tear... Depression can alter your vision and desire toward life's beauty while the rest of the world seems to be enjoying.

After suffering for the last two years, my father passed peaceably in his sleep...this is my take on things

I asked four AI systems the same question. Not a softball. A stress test. Compare the United States to at least ten other nations across both world wars. Look at how we police our own military. Look at how we treat defeated enemies. Look at how we behave toward our neighbors compared to how China behaves toward the Philippines, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, Australia, and Vietnam. Look at Venezuela. Strip away rhetoric. Look only at behavior. Then tell me whether American exceptionalism is real. Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini, and Grok each produced independent analyses. They disagreed on emphasis. They disagreed on causation. They did not disagree on the data. And the data settles the question.

It's finally happened. The Hornets have experienced year after year of mediocrity. The Lamelo Ball experience has been an era of suffering for Hornets fans. They just simply haven't been good. But this year has been a different story.

There is a move that gets made repeatedly in origin-of-life research, and once you see it, you cannot stop seeing it. It goes like this: acknowledge that something is chemically hard, propose a speculative mechanism as the workaround, and then continue talking as if the workaround solved the problem it was introduced to avoid.

A Lunatic Moon: Chapter 11 - Homecoming and Mike's knife Finally! After being released from the Psychiatric Assessment Center, Danny comes home. He's got all sorts of stories to tell. Stories about the food, the other patients and even the doctors. He can't tell everything, though, and with good reason. He especially doesn't want to frighten his younger brothers with tales of the true horrors inside the PAC. He also wants his family to think he's normal. His brother Kevin suspects otherwise and wants to know why Danny had Mike's knife with him the night he was arrested.

For this new note, I’d like to take the time to share an introduction to myself as a writer. Nearly six years ago, I faced a serious health challenge when I had a pulmonary embolism that stopped my heart. I was without a heartbeat for about forty-three minutes.

Dr. Neville Buch and the Management Institute for Contributory Economy did not answer my forensic critique with evidence. They answered it with vocabulary. That is the heart of the problem.