I
am
a
weed
woody,
gangly,
no
lipstick,
no
shine.
But
I
know
how
to
grow
through
cement.
I
know
how
to
take
a
sliver
of
filtered
sunlight
and
a
teaspoon
of
dirt
and
make
a
life.
I
can’t
go
deep
so
I
go
wide,
fingers
crawling
under
city
streets,
down
past
Front
Street—
and
around
the
corner,
to
the
end
of
the
block
and
back
again.
-Jan Avellana, 2019
This was the toughest week I've had in a while--but I'm still alive, I'm still here and I am resilient AF. I want to talk smack about all of it. I want to say all the things about the person I dealt w
One day the weeping will cease and your body, so tired from heaving sobs, will release itself and rest will finally come to your bones You will close your eyes and smile, and the air will be sweet and