Silence, Solitude, Anonymity and Androgyny. It’s taken me my entire life to dwindle down a personal feeling of power to these four terms. They seem simple enough, but fuck me if I haven’t worked my ass off for them. Together they mean freedom to me, which I think is the ultimate expression of power.

It didn’t go down well with everyone but I feel I’ve finally got to a point where I know how to negotiate the space I occupy and that it is correct and I have every right to be there and my voice and ideas are valid. Shit, sometimes they’re even really good.

…manifesting isn’t about vision boards, imagining our dream lives, or speaking our goals out loud.  It’s entirely about your subconscious self-worth.

Firstly: fuck. I basically spend 80 per cent of my free time making glittery vision boards.

Secondly: I started writing in my journal instantly and asked myself if I felt if I deserved what I was going after.

This was the first time I had improvised since the #MeToo movement exploded in Canadian theatre. It was my first opportunity to let out a lifetime of what I like to call the "laughing off the weirdness" of being a woman.

i gave them away

in desperate trade

for some semblance of affection

when I mistakenly believed

that need = love?

What if

the first ones

they so named

were simply women

who lived with the moon in their pocket?