You will have to share your life story,

Over and over during the intake process,

And each staff member will say, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

While turning a page on their clipboard.

Excerpt from Fieldguide For the Mental Hospital

Rite “rite of passage”

A ceremony, passage, or ritual which occurs when an individual leaves one group to enter another. It requires great endurance and character. A way of marking transitions in the important stages of life. A test of what you’re made of. A coming of age.

I didn’t realize I was writing a book.

Sitting in a psych ward, I scribbled poems across the back of medical paperwork. Wild-eyed portraits drawn in crayon or pencil. I held no interest in my life or future. I made things because they begged to be made and because they allowed brief moments of comfort; leaning into dissociation through the back and forth of my hand on paper.

Since 2014, I’ve created hundreds of poems and drawings. A vital practice as this period included many harrowing experiences: sexual assault, medical malpractice, psych wards, unemployment, and grief but also resourcefulness, compassion, resilience, forgiveness, and courage. Lion’s Rite is an (abridged) collection of that work. It was not written with the intention of being shared which means the images are poems are often visceral. It portrays isolating experiences in a way that with people really connect with.

One of the greatest sources of healing was courageous folks who shared their stories. Bearing witness is an active form of participation- we were all freed through their courage. That’s my goal with this book, that my story will embolden others to be seen as they are. To know they are not alone. To value their own voice.

Trigger warning(s)

Angelina Folds Flowers in Letters

“Do you know how to press flowers?”

I did when I was a child

But I’ve tried since

And I can’t remember…

She nodded,

“We forget the most important things.” 

Claim it.

Peace.

They can crack it down the center

From the pressure of their

Clutching, grasping flesh

But they cannot take it from me.

It may be sick
But sometimes, I satiate my rage
With the idea that
In a parallel universe
I just lit you on fire.
 
Survive,
Thrive,
Burn that motherfucker alive.