I confuse the world,
not by intention,
but by the way I shift
between silence and storm—
the way I bloom in solitude
and shine in crowds.

My laughter can fill a room,
but so can my absence.
I read the atmosphere like scripture,
decide whether to speak,
or simply observe.

There are days I want rhythm—
bass deep enough to shake off the pain,
to dance out the past.
And then,
there are days I want whispers—
the pages of a book turning softly,
or the hum of a healing tone
only I can hear.

Sound is my medicine.
Frequency my friend.
Doc P always knew the dial—
how to bring me back
without asking where I’d been.
But he’s far now.
And the distance aches.

Am I really an anomaly?
Or just a mirror
too honest for some to look into?

I’ve shed versions of me like skins—
this photo,
this face—
that was someone who tried to stay soft
in a world that kept hardening.

But she’s not here anymore.
She’s in the pages I’ve yet to write.
In the art still waiting
for my trembling hands to complete.
She’s in the quiet hours,
the frequency of becoming.

So if you ask me,
Where did I go?
I’ll say—

I didn’t go anywhere.
I went deeper.
I’m just harder to find now.

—

Category Archives: Uncategorized

Where Did I Go

HealingInProgress

SoundIsMedicine

FrequencyHeals

StillBecoming

EnergeticShapeshifter

AnomalyInBloom

WhereDidSheGo