“There is a fine line between using art to heal and using art to hide. Between diving into creativity and drowning in it.”

  • The saliency of my seas crash against the shores of your mind.

    You shamefully admit wishing I was a little more go with the flow and a tiny less tumultuous tides.

  • You cling to me like campfire smoke

    woven deep into the fibres of the memories too cruel to recollect.

  • He, a song-fuelled sparrow, tried to lay claim on me; constantly agitated that I, unlike him was not destined to sing.

    He tried to muzzle my howl but was forced to learn, that he could not tame my wild no matter how much he crooned.

  • You only taste me in the dark, like chocolate stolen past midnight, a guilty pleasure, a fleeting sin, melting on your tongue, then gone again.

    I was the craving you never starved, the whisper you swallowed in silence, tucked between the spaces of your life, held only when the world wasn’t watching.

  • You traced constellations on my skin, whispered promises like fireflies -- flickering, fleeting, never meant to last. But when dawn stretches her golden fingers, you vanished with the night.

    Now, I haunt you in the mundane—a song crackling through the radio, the scent of salt and sun-warmed skin, laughter echoing from a stranger’s lips. I exist in the spaces you swore you’d fill.

Beneath the Armour

For creatives in transition.

For anyone learning how to soften safely.

A creative sanctuary. A space for raw writing, archive fragments, and grounded practices rooted in self-return.

STEP INSIDE

Somewhere between the wreckage and wonder, I make art.

NOTES FOR THE CURIOUS

Curriculum Vitae

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