sometimes you have to preserve the not-ready-for-other-spaces writings for the place where your freedom of [public] expression began: old twitter. ✨

the town itself— its green sign, its road of schools, the block of small businesses, the florist on the corner— seethes at my door. the whole town, disgusted with my name, seeing me from high up; knowing me as a young whore, my knees married to the pavement. their story.

writing + things thesweetslow.substack.com

taking out the typewriter 💌 today— pay what you want poems (+postage) give me a word or phrase and i’ll write some poetic magick ✨ offerings of all sizes gratefully received via venmo @ thesweetslow // remember to let me know where to send it and who it’s for!

i can’t even pretend to be a terror. i’m too romantic. i fall in love with every tiny ingredient of life more than 30 times a day. i can’t help myself. ☁️

every time i say yes to poetry.. life says yes to me.

a giant thank you to my hometown! writing poems for the people all day? a DREAM. i feel like the mary poppins of poetry and im beyond grateful to get to do what i do & share the magick & medicine of the word ✍🏻

some of today’s ✍🏻

still basking in the glow of yesterday’s word magick 🥹🫀 yesterday was so clear. i took a vision from an afternoon drive, my gifts and skills and passion, and i turned it into something real. this is just the beginning. ✍🏻✨🪄