wounded

The Treasure No One Sees at First

There’s a question that lives quietly beneath many lives. It rarely announces itself, but you can see it flicker behind people’s eyes if you look long enough. It asks, Do I matter… really? Not when I’m strong or useful or admired, but when I’m weak, overlooked, or quietly carrying the weight of things no one…
Against the Artist’s Hand

(Thinking about the Bondi Beach Victims tonight…) There are nights when cruelty chooses a doorwayand calls it courage.When hatred sharpens itself into actionand dares to name the wound it makes as purpose.This is one of those nights—where the air itself feels bruised,and silence learns a new weight. Violence always arrives claiming power,but it carries the…

The Treasure No One Sees at First