Love, had always been understood by me, to be as important as the air we breathe. It was the painter who coloured the leaves, and changed them from tomato-red to asparagus-green. Lauded in all lands, it is the subject of much lore, sometimes there is no story line without a girl worth fighting for. Although love is celebrated everywhere from Bangkok to Beijing, it has also resulted in its share of suffering. If love lifts us up where we belong, and it is all we need, then peace should not be overlooked in order to satisfy greed. If love is all the many-splendoured things that I have heard, it should easily be able to repair the broken spirits around the world. As a child, love was often portrayed to me as a rapidly beating heart, or as cartoon pupils that were transfixed, and had been replaced by stars. Love was in the first kisses that occurred whilst hanging from monkey bars, and also in the thrill we shared from breaking rules by staying out ‘til after dark. Now ...
Accident-prone yet bulletproof, resilience courses through my veins. After pulling shrapnel from my own hell-bent self-destruction, all I was left with was me. Through embracing my darkness, I found the light. Here lives a collection of poetry, prose, and reflections on trauma, survival, desire, and becoming.