Happy Devil’s Night.

Fiona Apple is the best female lyricist of all time, and I will die on that hill.

She isn’t a hobby you just pick back up whenever you’re bored. She’s the fire you’ll remember when the rest taste like ash.

Consume my eager lips I want to lose my breath On your kisses

You ruin me gently And I let you Because somewhere in the ache I finally feel alive

And, absolutely. No. Fucking. Kings. #nokings

Don’t worry, girls. There’s enough of me to go around.

This is my ‘fuck it all’ look.

Autumn in Asheville.

Twitter is the same ten men commenting on every post with a vagina behind it.

It’s not her fault. She’s always been handled by hands that never knew what to do with her.

Social media is so fucking ridiculous. Algorithms are killers of creativity. If you don’t post strategically, you’re fucked. And if I can’t express when and where I want to, what’s the point and how is it “social”?

Mornin’, from Spooky NC.

Ravish me Turn me into Moving poetry

Tristan is famous! @newsweek.com www.newsweek.com/boy-stops-gr...

Make love to my mind before you touch my body. Then let’s see just how deep you can really go. #poeticsouls #poetry #shewrites

What character permanently altered your brain chemistry?

Social media in a nutshell. Twitter: (Yes, I said TWITTER.) Sex. Porn bots. MAGA. Lonely people everywhere. BlueSky: Hello? Can anyone hear me? (Echo, echo, echo) Threads: Let me just copy/paste that. IG: Ads. Mindless content. Repeat. Facebook: Boomers, sharing their memes.

Sip me in slowly Savor me longer

Maybe we are an echo of time, reverberating endlessly back to one another

Good morning, from Asheville.

You guys know him as Grammy and Emmy Award–winning producer, engineer & podcaster Jack McAdoo. Now you’ll know him as my podcast co-host… and the producer of my upcoming album. This is just the beginning.

If you can’t stay Don’t teach my heart How to hope

Foundations built In trauma feels like Holding your breath Just waiting for the Other shoe to drop

Don’t fault yourself For needing rest For the things your Mind puts your body Through

I don’t write out of confidence in my talent. I write out of conviction that words can make a difference.

Don’t act shocked If you armed them— And they aim at you

This is the 30 day countdown till Asheville. 🗓️

I live in a postcard. But the smiles here come with sharp edges. They call the mountains holy, while building fences around hearts. They claim Jesus, but then deny his skin color. Pretty isn't always kind. And silence only keeps the loudest voices in power.