Love isn’t found It is built. It changes form and shape It breathes and grows. It accommodates our tired bodies And restful sighs Our nervous laughter And fierce kindness. It is full of feeling, but thoughtful. And just like Rome Love isn’t built in a day. Brick by brick we lay our foundation Anticipate earthquakes, storms and tsunamis But chances are, what is debilitating isn’t an unforeseen disaster

I’ve spent the last month building furniture with friends, learning how to operate a drill, use tools and joining different physical materials together to build a home. I loved it. As a therapist, I foolishly thought that it is fundamentally relationships that make a home (a professional hazard perhaps?), but…

It’s funny how benign some acts of ignorance feel When there is love at the centre. And how harmful they are When there isn’t. It is not intention but love Free, open, vulnerable love Without defences Vast and senseless Honest and carefree That makes room for difficult conversations. When love is at the centre of a relationship It is strong enough to contain all the complexities of the world Gently dancing barefoot in the woods

My poetry about oppression feels angry Us vs them Me vs you But truly I see more than the colour of your skin I see you. I see how when you were hurt, you became fearful of skin Instead of the person wearing it. I am not afraid of your skin I am afraid of you. And I am not angry Just disappointed That you can’t see me too.

1. There will never be enough time with those we love. We’ll always be greedy for more time, but losing my cat taught me how much I can feel her presence in my heart even after she was gone. The loss of a pet can feel like a throbbing ache…

Our bodies are our inheritance. Our heritage. Within each crevice lies a legend In each whisper a communication Gifts from our foremothers, tales from our personal and ancestral histories The narratives of the hegemony force cruel accounts upon our bodies Our relationship with them ruptured, bruised, broken and sometimes deceased…

Dear White Folx, You might argue that you are reduced to your whiteness too Your identity, your stories, your struggle ‘erased’ Your depth and kindness unseen Your courage unacknowledged Your intentions invalidated. What a privilege To be surprised When that happens.

This is a narration of my internal world when I tell a white person what they said is racist. I experience racism as intimately traumatic and these interactions of everyday racism drain and exhaust me. The emotional labor that goes into every interaction, with an attempt to educate another into…