ari sharp writer poet artist mother

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i am forever oscillating between intentionality and falling into versions of myself i wasn’t expecting.

in me is the refusal to be locked down by any one thing, any definition of who i am, any this-means-that bullshit. we're all just fucking animals, killing each other, doing horrendous things but somehow it all adds to the beautiful grotesque of what it means to be alive.

hurtling towards

motherhood

i am caught in

a rip

pulling me out

to sea

looking to shore

i am out of my depth

everything familiar

getting smaller

suffocating

the enormity of the

ocean

motherhood

swelling

i'm not ready

to die