Beautiful

Why do we hold each other's faces when we kiss? Fingers tracing the edges of ears, plunging into hair, wrapping around the back of the neck  Holding on in a gentle way, as if to reassure ourselves this is real, we can feel them, and they are this close.  Maybe because we are just creatures of stardust, orbiting our shallow place in time. We touch and hold to pause the endless floating, to feel like we belong somewhere, even just for a few moments.  The kiss will end and the tether will snap. The fire will turn to ash and all we will have is the ghost of each other's warmth, the soft brush of the skin, the sliding strands of hair, reminding us that for a few moments, we were no longer lost. 

It begins with baggy clothing that makes me itch, makes me feel voluminous, pregnant with truths I never consented to carry. I am at my childhood church and there is a program going on in the sanctuary. A pressure is simmering under my skin, so I have stepped out to find somewhere to hide.  My friend thinks I'm going to the bathroom so she gets up to join me, as girls do. I enter a stall and close the door, wondering how well I am hidden. While I wait, something strange begins to happen to me. I need to be alone for this, I think. I tell my friend I'll catch up with her later and she leaves the room.  The ancient, unfamiliar sensation boils into steam and then my shadow self wrenches free of my body. She is tall, gaunt, has bad skin, and wears different clothes than I do. Her shoulders hunch forwards and she reaches for me with the animalistic focus of a zombie.  Panic floods my veins. She's going to kill me and eat me and no one will ever know what happened. The hinge of...

Listening to: "Sympathy Magic" by Florence + The Machine.  ------------- I have lived a great many places, both in and outside the US, but I've spent the majority of my professional life between Tennessee and Florida, both of which are primarily Christian states.  The reason I mention this is because most of my coworkers across different jobs have been Christian, which usually means something positive, but doesn't usually mean I find them very interesting.  How do I know when my coworkers are Christian? They'll mention upcoming church events, or how they have no time on the weekends because they are at church. Sometimes they will hum hymns under their breath. Sometimes they will strike up conversations with clients about how God is good or how he's getting them through tough times. I'll read lovely god-referencing messages of consolation when I'm signing the office "Sorry for Your Loss" card. Sometimes the women will dress modestl...

I want something but I don't know what it is.  I have eaten. I drank water. I slept.  But I am still ravenous.  There is something inside of me that wants, and wants, and wants.  Sometimes I am able to keep myself distracted enough that I don't hear its clamor and sometimes even when I do, I'm just too numb to care.  But it's still there, growling, "Is this all there is?"  "You're running out of time." "You are not enough."  "You are LACKING."  And I think about how old I am and what is happening in the world around me and I wonder what else I'm supposed to be feeling right now.  There is so much beauty and love and suffering and despair in this plane. I want to absorb and absolve all of it, but it surrounds me like a vast sea that I'll never be able to drink.  Someone died. Someone was born. Others just exist in the liminal horror of the 9-5. The cycle restarts at irregular intervals, and I wat...

  This is the story of how I left the system of belief that I was raised in.  Nobody online has asked me about my faith or deconstructive process, but since it is part of the most extensive and positive change in my life, I want to document it.  I want to start by clarifying something. This is not a crisis of faith. It is a collapse of meaning that has been happening gradually since I was a child and has become more conscious and overt over the last 2-3 years.  There are parts of me that echo arguments I've heard or even used myself. They ask, "God wasn't the one who hurt you. Why are you turning your back on God just because church people hurt you?" "This is just a normal part of growth as a Christian...sometimes people walk away from God, but he is always there waiting to welcome them back."  "You need to learn how to forgive the people who hurt you."  "God loves you, no matter how far you've wandered from him."  And then there are ...

     This is a short story I wrote for a horror workshop class in my English Master's program at UTC. It is based on my experience in my undergrad program at a cult-like Christian college near a tiny town in rural Arkansas. The horror elements include an unreliable narrator, an extremely restrictive atmosphere, confusion, untreated mental illness, spiritual gaslighting, religious abuse, sexual assault, and murder. When considering what to write about during the horror workshop, I decided to focus on my experience at Ouachita Hills College, because I really didn't have to change many details of my experience in order to write it as a horror story. As far as I know, no one has ever been murdered at the school, but due to the realism of other aspects of this story, it may be upsetting for some readers. If you went to OHC or have any unprocessed trauma about religious abuse, spiritual gaslighting or sexual assault, please take care of yourself. Depending on where you're ...