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Weaver of words. Seeker of flow. Curious generalist. Poetry, fiction, non-fiction, creativity, self, relationships, food, justice & more. https://bit.ly/354BO7C

Knowing when to walk away

A red fire with smoke billowing from it burns against a grey sky.
Smoke billowing from a fire; Licensed from Pexels

Zipped lips.
Hands tied.
Light steps.
Pain.

Compressed desires of self
delve deep,
burrow
into bone.

In service,
under pressure
to perform and
not disrupt,

dreams crush,
colors dull,
expression fades
away.

She wears the fire curtain
to protect
herself from
burns,

while tending to
consuming flames,
stoking their
supply.


When the psyche reignites old flames

A Ferris wheel can be seen looming over the fairgrounds of a carnival, backdropped by a sky just at the end of sunset, with a gradient from dark blue at the top of the image, to purple and then red.
View of carnival grounds at dusk; Licensed from Евгения Корнеева, Adobe Stock

The Ferris wheel in my mind
spins back around to you.
Unspoken words,
questions never asked,
the vulnerability dodged
in misguided attempts
at self-preservation
rush out
as the carnival attendant
lifts the steel bar
that contained us.

We meander the vacant
fairgrounds of our short-lived,
youthful love,
passing spun sugar words,
winding, adventurous…


Celebrating my individuality during Pride month

Light refracted through a sphere; licensed from @escarlosfx, Adobe Stock

At times I see myself
as a beige smudge,
a blur between places —
ambiguous enough
to belong everywhere
and nowhere
all at once.

It seems my role is
to hang in the balance.
But then I remember…

I am sun-warmed sand
hugging weary feet
through tiring journeys.

I’m Ceylon…


Finding the way to quiet poignancy

A Romanesque Revival style building at dusk at a major intersection with cars passing through.
A main intersection in Toronto, Ontario, Canada; Photo courtesy of the author

The beeping,
the bustling,
the buzzing,
the noise.

Is this city
louder or
have I become
more quiet?

Desensitization
acquiesces
to prickling
sensitivity.

My skin crawls
at clangs and
bangs that distract
creative thought.

Living in the
jumbled jungle,
metropolitan
life exhausts.

I have reached
an age and stage
that begs of…


Losing 37 followers in an hour seems like a glitch

A woman with curly hair holds her head in frustration while looking at a laptop.
Photo by Yan Krukov from Pexels

This morning, I lost 37 followers within an hour. I also noticed that I wasn’t following some of the writers I definitely followed recently. What’s going on?

I read a story the other day from a writer who was mysteriously no longer following people he had previously followed. …


An acrostic poem commemorating the Indigenous children subjected to Canada’s residential school system

A field of sweetgrass covered in dew that is illuminated by morning light.
Sweetgrass covered with dew in the morning light; Licensed from Volodymyr, Adobe Stock

in the years of darkness, they
lay restlessly,
left covered up and passed over.
unjustly, their pasts and futures were buried,
muddied by black soil suppressing the stories
in their blood.
nothing stays hidden
and innocent victims don’t lie peacefully. …


Ryerson University is called to change its name in solidarity with Indigenous Canadians

A statue of Egerton Ryerson is on the ground. Behind it, its base is covered in graffitti that says, “Dig them up” and more. The base of the statue is surrounded in children’s shoes to commemorate 215 Indigenous children found buried in an unmarked mass grave at the site of Kamloops Indian Residential School.
Photo Credit, with permission: Joshua Best; The toppled statue of Egerton Ryerson in Toronto

On June 6, 2021, a group of Indigenous activists and allies in Toronto successfully toppled a statue of Egerton Ryerson, beheaded it, and cathartically cast its remains into Lake Ontario.

The statue was a monument to a Methodist minister who was influential in establishing the racist, white supremacist Indian residential…


A blue sky with white, fluffy clouds is seen through a canopy of trees.
A blue sky with white, fluffy clouds is seen through a canopy of trees.
Photo courtesy of the author; a view of the sky through a canopy of trees.

A grounded perspective


A poem about how sorrow recreates you

A sad person with their hand to their face, stylized with paint.
Licensed from LUMEZIA.com, Adobe Stock

Grief draws lines on your face.
Softly at first, like a rough tracing of a map —
faint enough to be rubbed away, leaving a ghost of an etching. …


A social studies assignment sparks tension between a seventh-grader and her parents

Licensed from Rui Vale de Sousa, Adobe Stock; hands holding a globe to the sky

Madison made her way clumsily from the garage towards the kitchen, her arms full of old newspapers, paint, and a dusty dodgeball.

“Dad, would it be okay for me to use this stuff for a school project?” …

Rachel Ramkaran (she/her)

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