I wrestle daily with loneliness, meaning, and the realization that existence often feels like a single-player game. Let’s explore trauma, numbness, and the quiet question that appears when the world stops making promises. Ready player 1?
Posts tagged identity
Where Is I? |
A Return of the First Person
Some memories feel third person, like the memories of childhood trauma. Like the body was there but the narrator stepped out of the room. This poem moves through the strange, disjointed grammar of survival, where identity thins, fragments, and slowly rebuilds back into a voice strong enough to stand inside its own sentence.
There Was Cake |
A Stranger's Birthday
A photograph insists I was there, but memory has other ideas. A boy at a birthday table, candles, sisters close by. The room is familiar and strange, light stuck in its own insistence. Time slips, identity wavers, and the past just won’t let go.
An Open Letter to Big Beer |
We'll Always Have Bryan Adams
I wrote this letter to Big Beer over 10 years ago as a joke. Some inside craft beer geek humor. Today, it reads like something else entirely: a reflective, a memoir-esque piece on identity, and the strange way we drift away from the comfort of assumed permanence without knowing how or when it happened.
If You Drive a Pickup Truck, You’re an Asshole |
On 4-Wheeled Ego Trips
Think your pickup truck is just a truck? Think again. If your truck bed has never hauled anything heavier than bags of mulch, you might be an asshole. Let’s explores how trucks, SUVs, and our other “just-in-case” purchases reveal more about ego and self-delusion than actual utility.
Anticipatory Disappearance |
On Survival and the Refusal to Grow Old
I’ve lived most of my adult life with the sense that I won’t grow old. At least not in the average sense we’re led to expect. Chronic illness taught me early that bodies fail quietly and often without warning. This isn’t an essay about dying. It’s about surviving, mistrusting the future, and refusing to lie about it.
I Am Broken |
Rewriting a Life Shaped by Invalidation
A raw exploration of what it means to feel broken, to realize the damage was never inherent. In this piece I dig through childhood pressure, inherited wounds, and the unreliable narratives we carry. It’s a reclamation of identity, a study of echoes, and a quiet rewriting of the self.
Phantom Limb: A Nocturne |
A Psychological Horror Short Story
I woke to the impossible—my shadow moving without me. The house held its breath as the dark pressed close. Every step deepened the divide between body and self. A psychological horror short story about identity, fear, and the haunting space where the self begins to split.
The Wrong Play
I’ve spent my life pretending to be someone else — an engineer, a writer, a version of me that fits what others expected. But when I write, I feel the edges of who I really am, even if the words don’t make sense. This is what it means to question your memories, your past, and your place in the world — and to keep writing anyway.