Dear Blog Readers,
The Artist Series has been on hold due to technical details accessing the interviews conducted. I sincerely apologize and the posts will be coming soon.
Today we hear from H.S. The emotional and metaphorical intensity in their writing reminds me of Margaret Atwood. Recovery is not always a triumphant return, but often a quiet, persistent re-entry into the body you once abandoned. This poem explores that journey, not as a cure, but as a slow remembering.
Remember to be kind to yourself and to nourish your body, mind, and sense of self.
Your Blog Moderator,
Kira
What Returns
after forgetting the self
There was a season
you spent shrinking—
not into something
smaller,
but into a kind of absence.
A discipline of vanishing.
The world clapped.
You folded.
Still, something stirred
under the hush—
a pulse that wouldn’t quit.
A voice, almost cruel,
for how much it wanted you alive.
You began to answer it
without ceremony.
Not in joy—
in something rougher.
Obligation, maybe.
Or defiance.
The body—
strange accomplice—
kept opening its hands.
Forgave you
without asking why
you left.
You came back
not all at once,
but like moss:
inch by inch
over old stone.
There is no moral to this.
Only that softness can grow
where ruin lived.
Only that you are still here,
eating light
through the cracks.