I’m anxious

when I close my eyes
the blackness pulsing
tells me that my eyes
are pulsing in my skull

my blood pressure is spiked
I’m anxious.

I’m trying to take a deep breath
but I can feel the weight
of the world constricting
around my lungs

my cheeks are hot and flushed
I’m anxious.

but I’m always anxious
that’s why I look angry all the time
and why my neck and jaw
are always so damn tense

I stop and breathe
close my eyes again
and just
breathe

I’m anxious
but I can do this
I do this everyday
everyone does this

everyday

breathe
stretch
shake it out
good

until next time, then

I can’t sleep

I can’t sleep

I’m turning 35 in 10 days

and I can’t sleep

it’s 8 o’clock in the morning

I woke up at 5pm yesterday

but I can’t sleep?

I did half caf not full

So I don’t think it’s the coffee

I just … can’t sleep.

there’s so much that’s come

and so much that I’ve lost

so many faces I’ve memorized

and now so desperate to forget

they haunt my memories

and dreams like familiar statues

but, hey, I can’t sleep anyway

can’t, sleep it all away

can’t dream it better or different

I can’t sleep

through my life or I’ll miss

falling in love again

I can’t sleep

through the ups and downs

because they’re what dreams

are made of, but

I can’t sleep

Not without you here

holding my hand

Caresses along my body

Without you, I can’t sleep

Dear Mom

This is the unofficial letter to the woman my mother could have been, if she had healed the things that broke her spirit over and over again.

Today, your son got his first placement in a gallery after years of pursuing art, like you always encouraged me to do. After pushing me to “always dance”. I finally did it. I got my first gallery showing. It’s nothing special, nothing like a gallery where my physical art will hang for all to see, and touch, and take home. I guess it’s still special though. Because it’s going to be up in a very popular part of town in Seattle. Hundreds if not thousands of people will be able to see it for 60seconds at a time. It may go nowhere, it may lead to nothing; but that means nothing to me. The art has never been about who is going to buy it, but who’s going to see it.

Who it will resonate with. What parts of it they’ll resonate with. And ultimately, it’s been about sharing my perspective of reality. I knew I wanted to do something with art, from a very young age, when my father would take me to the bookstore.

And while he spent hours reading comic books, and whatever else he was reading; I honestly didn’t pay enough attention, because all of my attention was focused on the small rack of instructional booklets that showed figure drawings. I wanted to learn how to draw cartoons, but I don’t know why nobody ever bought me the books. It doesn’t ultimately matter. But, my mother always believed in me. She always told me that I was really good at art, and always encouraged me to pursue any artistic passion I had: music, singing, poetry, drawing. She bought me pastels. She bought me anything she could afford to buy me so I could try new art.

But I don’t get to tell her that directly. She won’t hear any of this from my mouth directly. Because 9 years ago, I cut my mother off completely. It took several years for me to make the decision. And, I would be lying to say I haven’t reconsidered that decision at least once a year since then. Most especially around my birthday, because nobody ever celebrated my birthday like my mom. It took me years of ripping my heart strings out of my body to finally make the decision to cut my mother off. She was my best friend.

But I had to, for my own safety; my own health; my own well-being. And I’m still that little kid, who wants their mommy when they get sick; but I can’t call her. And every year on my birthday, I hope to be celebrated the way that she used to. But it’s never been the same.

And today, I got my first gallery placement, and she was one of the first people that came to mind. I will never be able to tell her directly because, as much as she did love me in those ways; there’s so much other stuff that she does not do healthily, that I cannot manage being around her at all. There’s so many other ways that she refuses to be respectful of my boundaries, that I can no longer share my victories with her.

I do hope that someday there’s a piece of art that she sees and she knows that I kept going with it. And I hope that she’s still proud of me when she sees it.

And I know she will be. I just really wish I could celebrate it with her.

16 January 2026

Hey Mom,

Today I heard back from the people in charge of the Art Call I submitted my work to back in October. They accepted my piece! It’s called Fwog Knight! It’s a digital drawing I did of a cartoony poison dart frog with tattoos and a knight’s helmet on, floating in the sky. He’s so cute and round! Remember all the frogs I used to have on my bookshelf in my room in high school? I think about them every time I look at the drawing. And my friend Lam? She says it looks like the frog is “bussin it open in the sky” and it makes me laugh so hard every time. She says she knows it’s supposed to be based on me because I’m shaking ass all the time.

They’re going to start showing it on February 5th, which they say correlates to the city’s yearly Art Walk festival. They’re going to show it digitally on a screen that faces the street for 60-seconds at a time! Which, I know doesn’t sound like a lot, buuuuut, it’s going to be up all of 2026! That means hundreds, maybe thousands of people might see it. Can you believe that?! And! It’s in the Art District next to Pioneer Square, so there’s tons and tons of people who walk by there all the time. I even pass the gallery on the bus when I have to go downtown. I’m going to take my friends to go see it when they visit me. I can’t wait!! It may go nowhere, it may lead to nothing; but that means nothing to me. My art has never been about who is going to buy it; I just want people to see it.

You were the first person I thought of when I heard back from the gallery. I was checking my email for something else from my doctor or something; I honestly can’t remember. I saw the name of the gallery; I froze; and, I definitely forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. Autopilot and curiosity eventually took over and I opened the letter to see that they had accepted my piece! I thought of you, and then I remembered I couldn’t call you. My elation quickly intermingled with the grief of no longer having you in my life.

Remember when you tried to sign me up for art classes, but we couldn’t afford them, so you bought me an art kit instead? I used to sit out on the front lawn and draw for hours with Bandit in my lap. Or, all the time I spent in my room drawing and listening to music? You were always the first person I wanted to share my finished art with. You always believed in me. Not just with art; with everything I did: singing, dancing, poetry, softball, school. You were always my biggest fan. Doing everything you could afford to do to make sure I was able to pursue things I loved and was good at. Which is why it breaks my heart, today, that I will never be able to celebrate this moment with you. 

Instead, I’m standing alone in my kitchen, crying, and missing you. This started as a voice note to myself because all I wanted to do was call you and scream excitedly into the phone. I wanted to text you a screenshot of the acceptance and the posting on the gallery website that shows my name and my art as it will look on the screens. But I can’t — and I haven’t been able — to call you for 9-years, because I cut you out of my life. Because, despite how much you always celebrated me; no matter how much you encouraged me; and, regardless of how much you tried to love me; you are not safe for me, Mom.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I’ve never reconsidered my decision. I think about you every year on your birthday. I still want to call for my mommy when I’m so sick I can’t think straight. And every year, on my birthday, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that no one has ever celebrated me on my birthday the way you did. You set a very high standard, Mom. And today, as I got my first gallery placement, I felt myself reconsider my decision again. Because who is going to celebrate me as much as you would have?

The answer? Me.

I’ve decided that, tomorrow, I’m going to let myself sleep in until I’m ready to get up. I don’t have anything to do, and I still stay up too late and sleep even later (forever your little night owl). I have a bottle of Peach Crown Royal that I bought for special occasions. I’m going to go buy some tacos from the taco truck down the street and take a shot of Crown when I eat. I’m going to throw ass in my kitchen to some good music, and I’m going to relax with my friends. Then, I’m going to write you this letter because I found a call for a Creative Nonfiction piece, and I already have the voice note saved. I know I can’t celebrate this moment with you, but I think I found a way to honor your unrelenting support for me as your child.

So here it is: the unofficial letter to the woman you could have been in my life, Mom.

It took years of cutting my own heart strings to make the decision to completely cut you out of my life.

I still miss you when I feel small; when I feel big; when I feel broken; and, when I feel unstoppable.

You will always be the woman who carried me for 9-months and birthed me in the hot August heat.

Heartbreakingly, you will never again be my mother.

I know that you still watch my socials, or at least try to. I know that you still want to know what’s going on in my life — to know that I’m safe — despite the fact that I’ve distanced myself from anyone who has direct contact with you. I know that you are still proud of me, even if you do not know where I am.

And honestly, I hope someday you get the chance to read this. I hope, somehow, the universe finds a way for you to learn about what your son has done with his life. But only if it can be done in a way that does not jeopardize the distance I have worked so diligently to create between us. 

I have lost so much to keep myself safe from the harm that you and the rest of the family caused in my life. I just need you to know that I never abandoned my art. I still sing. I still dance. I still smile. I have found joy. I have found love. I have founded a community for myself. And I have made a new family.

I also opened an art shop this year! I launched it on the first day of this year, actually. It won’t be the first time I’ve sold my art online, but it is the first time I’ve had an official shop to help me manage orders. I design, print, and manage the inventory all on my own. I’ve been using all the skills I learned in my undergraduate degree to build my website and online presence to get my art out into the world. It’s very small. But it’s mine. There’s so much to update you on, but of course there is; it’s been 9-years.

All this to say: thank you. Thank you for always believing in me. Thank you for trying to love me through the shit you couldn’t heal from. I still think of all the times you would sing “I hope you dance” by Lee Ann Womack to me in the car, encouraging me to be brave when all I wanted to do was cry and give up. I’ve been singing it to myself the last few weeks because you’ve been on my mind so much.

Even though I am the one who created the distance between us, I have full confidence that you are still proud of me. I just really wish that it was safe to hear you say it to me in person. I love you. I miss you. I appreciate everything you tried to do for me. I promise: I will never give up on myself. Good luck, Mom.

Love Always,

Your son, N ♥

Something about blood and water

I’m sitting here with blood on my shirt

Dark red drops, dry from last night

I cut my finger slicing zucchini for dinner

A midnight meal

My only meal

After a long day of dissociation and a late evening nap

I cut a chunk of my index finger off

It bled so much I had to change the paper towel twice

And, apparently, so much that it dripped onto my shirt

The blood nearly blends into the tie dye coloring

“Fuck off, I’m fragile” in vinyl lettering

the shirt was a gift from my best friend

She lives in my hometown and I miss her

I miss having family

I cut my finger and I had to do home first aid

Reminding me that I’m truly alone here

I’m pursuing my dreams to their fullest

but I’m alone

blood drops on my tie dye shirt

Homemade bandage on my index finger

Alone but supported

I’ve needed to write this for a few weeks, but I’ve been holding my breath — waiting to hear back from a writing competition — before trying to write this piece. Yesterday I got a reply back. My piece wasn’t a winner for that competition, and now I feel like I can write this one.

In that piece, I wrote an unofficial letter to my mother, telling her that I was accepted into a gallery. A few days after I wrote that unofficial letter, I got confirmation that I was accepted into a second gallery. They accepted two of my submissions and asked if they could project them in the gallery instead of hanging physical copies on the wall. I accepted that because I had just animated one of the pieces a few days before that, and thought it would be cool to show the animated version instead of the static image.

Going to the gallery opening was hellishly bittersweet. On the one hand, I was ecstatic to be showing my art in a gallery. A privately owned and operated studio that runs off donations. The exhibit was, honestly, a perfect collection of weird body-focused art. It felt incredible to be surrounded by the work of artists with similarly weird styles. On the other hand, I was alone. No friends to join me. No family. Just me.

I later found out that my only local friend could have come, but they got too high to join. I thought they were going to be out of town or I would have texted them to check in. They didn’t tell me their plans had changed so I didn’t reach out. The gallery is only a few blocks from their place.

I’m in this interesting place in my life where, I have an online community of supportive and loving people, but no one local to me. Not really. Just the one person, and we’re in a very odd place in our relationship as we explore boundaries and informed consent.

As of right now, I don’t even have an emergency contact.

I’m doing the art thing. I’m pursuing my passion. And I’ve never felt more alone while, simultaneously, feeling loved and supported. It’s vulnerable in a way I’ve never had to pursue. I’m grateful to have this part of my life experience. But I would hate for it to be like this forever.

February 24, 2018

Inside this head of mine
You’ll find peace and serenity
Burned deep below the surface
Of Chaos and Burning Memories

They scorch my mind
They’re too hot to touch
They curve and bend around my mind
Begging for water or smothering

The ashes swirl behind my eyes
Leak through the ducts at will
Emoions and passions drive me wild
There’s too much at hand

He pulls me closer than I’ve ever known
Holds me till our hearts sync in beat
No skipping stones across the lake
Or holding hands along the beach

Instead the butterflies reside
Deep down inside our stomachs
Set free only by the tighest grip
And an endless lullaby

He’s sitting closer to me now
Oh how our eyes have wept
For sorrow long and gone
But, somehow, it never left

We cling to each other
As though
It’s our very lives
That depend on secrets ever kept