Writting Work
Writing found me early in age... and never really left. There are notebooks I've lost count of, filled with drafts that were never meant for anyone but me. That passion with paper.
Pages that are messy in the way honest things tend to be. Somewhere in those piles live stories I hope to bring to the surface soon, carefully, when the time earns it.
For a while, flickers of that writing found their way into Flickr captions, small quiet things tucked beneath photographs. Those faded for a moment, the way some things do before they return heavier and more certain than before.
The pages keep filling. The sharing is still being earned.
So...
Veilborne
Illicit Glimpse Exhibition, Nitroglobus Gallery — April / May 2026
Veil of Flux
The frame holds longest for the last thing let into it.
Everything before was development time. Hands moving through chemical, surgical dark, shaping other things into focus. Not hers.
This should only take a minute... or two.
She is the incision she never let herself make.
Sienna
april 10th 2026
Veil of Flux
Ilicit Glimpse Exhibition, Nitroglobus Gallery — April / May 2026
Liminal Edge
The spine knows before the mind does.
It bends toward what it has already decided.
She has been carrying something.
You can see it in the way the shoulder drops,
the way the hand has given up its grip
but hasn't fallen yet.
The dark behind her is not empty.
It has weight. It has been there a long time.
And still she leans forward.
Not escape. Not arrival.
The moment between one breath leaving
and the next not yet chosen.
Sienna
april 14th 2026
Liminal Edge
LACUNA Exhibition, Nitroglobus Gallery — May / June 2026
Anechoic Self
LACUNA Exhibition, Nitroglobus Gallery — May / June 2026
Inviolate
There is a certain freedom
in forgetting to wonder.
Something quieter than a choice...
closer to the way
a season changes.
No single moment.
No declaration.
Just her, one day,
a little lighter
than before
Sienna
may 26th 2026
Anechoic Self
Some days I move through the hours
like a word in a language
I almost speak.
Close enough to recognize.
Not quite enough to mean.
There is something here that is mine
the hands, the habits, the particular way
the morning finds me.
And yet.
A slight distance.
Not named.
Not explained.
These things pass
the way weather passes
not because we wait for them to,
but because that is simply
what they do.
Sienna
april 12th 2026
Call me by your name
She waded into the water, moonlight carving silver secrets along her flesh. The cigarette between her lips burned slow, its ember a dying star swallowed by the night.
The waves whispered things she had long forgotten, she had never owned. They curled around her, pulling, pleading. But she did not answer.
Because she was no one.
But she was everyone.
And tonight, she belonged to the dark.
And the dark... it called her by something that was never hers to keep.
Sienna
february 1st 2025