a memoir from apple blossoms

author's note; intensity has defined the lilt of my writer's verse for too long. i began spinning words together in hate, dissolution, discontent, rage, intimacy. vines have sprouted out of my fingertips in litany, and praying to what, i do not know. at their birth, it has meant to sound the chimes of renegade, of something subversive and insurgent. yet, when connecting emotion to balladry, my truth got lost in the leaves covering the path; reused and certainly not reverenced with my own di...