“What beauty, friend, grows in your darkness?” by Julia at her desk

Thursday August 22, 2019
5 minutes
Freeing The Creative Spirit
Adriana Diaz

I am asking some of those tender spaces
those in between here and now places
if i love myself and if the answer is
yes, 100% yes i do then what am i willing
to commit to

I must leave the dirt on the floor, i
must stop eating out of garbage cans
and stop expecting to be filled up, i
must wait patiently at the tooth-edged
sword that wants to jab and hit and poke,
i must close my eyes more and find some
softness in the hidden drawers

In my darkness there grows a beauty
it first comes from rage and from pain
and then it blossoms into something i
can’t name or won’t name in case if i
do it blows the petals off in a fury
there is a quiet and there is a small

i must share my darkness with myself
so i can name her and then forgive her
and hold her and let her sleep in my
bed and give her chewy biscuits

I must love her the way i would a
daisy or a snail; slowly

”What beauty, friend, grows in your darkness?” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 22, 2019
5 minutes
Freeing The Creative Spirit

Adriana Diaz

I don’t take the shot, but I aim. I hold the gun in shaking hands. I smell cement, rain, pine needles. I remember how my father used to smoke a bong in the morning and leave it on the table. I remember how my father’s wife, Ursula, used to dump the bong water in the toilet and when I’d go to pee I’d see the strange colour, smell the strange smell. I smoked my first joint when I was ten. My father rolled it. Now, I hold this gun in my hands and I’ve never felt so big and so small. Time is the great kaleidoscope. My father’s voice in my ear, “DO it.” Ursula died of breast cancer last November. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry.