jrkwrites

-I might first look to a scribbled journal in crayon, writing frantically trying to understand why my mother wouldn’t stop screaming I might look to a canvas; burned with a bic, in pencil, in paint. 

I might look to time spent locked inside for months, a gifted journal mixed with scavenged art supplies, trying to understand the inside of my mind I might look to gratitude lists mixed with extended metaphors mixed with a desire to stay on a path to serenity. 

I aim to not just write, not just create, but share my story that is not often told. A story that is hidden away in dark corners of psychiatric wards, bar stools, bad coffee after meetings, and the child who desperately claws for any protective adult. Through the lens of queerness, transness, and anti-oppression. I aim to be a channel.-