"You   are   loved."  



































While walking home a few days ago, I read these words written in chalk on a stone wall. It was dark outside, yet the phrase stood out to me and I felt warm that night.




























For weeks, I have been writing and re-writing to explain a sadness I have been holding for a long time.



Because how do you explain something your body won’t let you talk about?









None of the words felt right;

nothing seemed close to the truth.






























Today, I struggle with the aftermath of sexual assault.



It hurts me,

shaking my emotions in a way I don’t understand.





                Nonetheless, I feel largely okay. I function well and in the rare moments that the memories come, I try my best to forget.













                                 Going, going, and then gone.




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For the first time, I really grappled with these emotions through this body of work.


                                                  At first, I thought I was angry, but that’s not what appeared while painting.








                                          Instead, I thought again of the aftermath and the struggle to find peace and normalcy.

























































And I reminded myself



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I want someone



I am loved.

I am loved.

I am loved.