“I create art from the places where healing, grief, love, and transformation meet.”
My work explores the stories we inherit, the wounds we carry, and the possibility of choosing a different path. Through poetry, music, reflection, and storytelling, I aim to give voice to the unseen parts of ourselves—the inner child, the forgotten self, the ancestral echoes, and the enduring hope that lives beneath them all.
I am interested in what happens when we stop running from our pain and begin witnessing it with compassion. My art is an act of remembrance, a return to self, and a commitment to breaking cycles that no longer serve us. I create to honor where I come from, while imagining what becomes possible when love, awareness, and creation lead the way forward.
At the heart of my work is a belief that healing is both personal and collective. When one person chooses to transform their story, the impact reaches beyond themselves—to their family, their community, and future generations.
My creative practice is devoted to changing my bloodline through love, truth, and creation. It is an offering to myself, to those closest to me, and to anyone seeking the courage to reclaim their own voice. Through my work, I hope to create spaces where people feel seen, connected, and inspired to become more fully themselves.
I create not because I have all the answers, but because I believe transformation begins when we are willing to witness what is real and imagine what is possible.
poetry/ spoken word
Included:
Worthiness
Behind the Curtain
Worthiness
“Unworthy,” she cries from the death of her slumber.
She sleeps in the day to avoid the ache in her chest, and the numbing that takes her.
She wakes to the moon who meets her loneliness with silence.
Her dreams never reach her because unworthiness lulls her into a trance that becomes years of dreadful resistance.
‘Where does it hurt, you ask?’ In the teardrops that fall like seasons that multiply her years.
When grief leaves, loneliness enters. A short loop, then return to the impending doom of remembrance.
They have made a home too deep in her to be removed.
They move in stillness; they move in absence. Taking up more space than you can ever imagine.
Aching, longing, yearning for more.
She cries, “how do I give up this burden for sure?”
She is passed by Father Time, who brings gifts to her like invitations to initiations.
Terrified by all that she will lose if unworthiness leaves her.
Terrified by all that she will lose because unworthiness loves her.
She is frozen in time, too confused by the lies.
Frozen in time, too afraid to confide.
Her unworthiness is the only friend who never leaves her side.
It tells her, “no one will love you like I do when you have nothing to offer.
Others will take away the moon that meets your loneliness with silence, and bring warmth to your aches, making you erase who you once were.”
Hearing the rumble of its voice leaves her frozen again, because the silence and aching she feels have been her only friends.
What will she be when she’s ready to be something else?
The girl caught in-between the moon and the silence.
She yearns for the sun, to bring movement to her steps,
Understanding that she will have to leave this journey for the next.
Silence and aching are replaced by hope and compassion.
Is this where my invitation to the initiation commences?
In the space where loneliness meets compassion,
And acceptance unravels these defenses?
Because unworthiness is no longer the only voice in the silence.
On the bridge where loneliness meets compassion is where the softening happens.
Sunlight meeting tears, reflecting rainbows in its mirror.
Soothing the ache in her chest with the warmth of its glow,
Helping her see each step to return to love, her true home.
The silence no longer louder than her own heart’s cry,
It screams, “I am worthy no matter how little I give because I am Divine.”
Behind the Curtain
Free from the invisible chains that tethered spirits to generations past.
Battle-scarred and broken-hearted, but now moving, at last.
Their presence was crushing, exhausting, humbling.
No one could foresee what these spirits would bring.
Incessant worry and blame;
Self-deprecating they stay.
Leaving us weary, lost, and without purpose.
Confusion and illusions, bringing doubt to dilute us.
Once whole, she glowed.
But this glow was really only masquerading as gold,
To not lose the shine for those lone eyes to behold.
Behold.
Be. Hold.
I hold her better now.
I try to BE more these days but growing through the fire is deadly.
I think I’m ready. Ready to behold her now. More than ready. Ready to be her now.
Because she is me and I am her.
She was trapped behind the curtain, I did not see her.
So scared and abandoned, I almost lost her.
Not for ever, never for good.
My baby was waiting for her mother to observe her.
Also, lost was she, behind her own curtain, tortured by the same spirits.
Weighed down by a darkness too big for her to withhold.
It covered her.
It used to cover me, too.
The wounds that have shaped us, carry the weight of remembrance.
Too painful, they confused us.
Pressed into my being, the spirits suffocated my goodness;
Chaining me to smallness, making me forget what my truth is.
They made me think I was useless.
I cannot lie, my defenses proved truth-less.
Birthed in me a version so ruthless-
ly I tried to fight my way back.
Back to behold her.
Back to being, holding, her.
Ever so gently.
Wiping tears from her cheeks,
and crying for the ones who couldn’t make it from behind their own curtain.
Forever uncertain. Forever unlearning.
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