Welcome to my Small Corner of Sarcasm, Depression, and Vulnerability
Dear Newbies,
I am alive, and I live in a beautiful city. That mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between summer and winter is my favorite time of year. Chilly air, whistling wind, and rain that smells like memories.
Sometimes, I like to lie awake at night listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on my roof. Sometimes, the sky is so clear that I can see the far blue edge of forever behind distant suns. Sometimes, I see little shooting stars out of the corner of my eyes like falling glitter. Sometimes, I think if we lived to be 200–300 years…
On The Nature of Time and What It Means to Live
Time is predictable. Constant and cyclical. We’re born, we live, we die. For most of our history, this didn’t surprise us. Humans lived by the sun and the seasons. We recognized that the sunrise and the sunset were the same entity. We didn’t just smell the flowers. We planted seeds, watched them germinate, tended them as they grew, and saw them wilt and decay. Over and over. Birth, Life, Death. We were intimately acquainted with all three.
In the early 21st century, we set out to define and standardize that cycle. We measured it, and created notches and signposts throughout…
On Chasing Excitement When You Really Want Peace
As someone who’s not an alcoholic, I’ve been to an unusual amount of AA meetings. In a community center. In a few church basements. In a park. Mostly as moral support. A few years back, I opened my events venue to a group when the church they’d been meeting at closed down. Certain concepts I’ve heard in AA have stuck with me over the years.
One Day At A Time
You can’t save your ass and your face at the same time
Most people would rather die than learn anything about themselves. In fact, they do.
For the past seven…
On The Limitations of Alcohol as a Lifeline
I’ve pleaded with the world to tell me I am more than a hollowed out story maker. If I’m destined to be a story-teller, I must be in the wrong body. Everyone knows that bodies like these never tell stories that mean anything. In all of the stories in all of the worlds in all of the universes, one person must rise and become a hero to save mankind. It’s never a ruddy-faced Korean girl with almond eyes that grow darker in winter who has a slightly “too Christian” mother and workaholic dad, whose only legacy is pretentious metaphors and…
Being Dragged, Kicking and Screaming, into Embracing Change
I love structure. As much as I try to be hip and flexible, to just go with the goddamn flow, I’m wired differently. I like routines, schedules, and knowing what’s coming down the pipeline. I get the same thrill from new planners that I do from old books. I’m not the tragically creative night-owl writer a few of my internet peeps have suspected. I’m the introverted version of that perky, morning person you want to slap.
After a discussion of the creation of a trauma-based mental health care plan for the students in my local district in January, a friend…
Lockdown and Records That Blast Nostalgia Go Hand-in-Hand
Music was a soothing savior in 2020, and the trend has not stopped. Even though I’m never completely satisfied with my redecorating (no matter where I position the couch, it refuses to magically transport me to the beach), hanging my records and guitar on the living room wall did bring a small jolt of joy. Ever read James Baldwin while listening to Nina Simone and sipping red wine in your comfiest pajamas? Does the heart good, I tell you.
When I got tapped in the summer by a former friend to share the 10 albums that changed the way I…
Or When The World’s on Fire, You Learn To Be Painfully Honest.
“Someone smeared poop on the wall in the bathroom.”
“Wait, what?”
“Just on the wall-around the toilet.”
“I hope you know we’re never coming back to this store. No matter how much you like their video games.”
“Then, I’ll just be bored and die.”
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t leaving me alone in a world where people smear poop on the walls.”
“Alright, let’s go. You know you’re stuck with me for the next fifty years anyway.”
“I know”
“You’re stuck with me for the next fifty years” is not a comforting statement. On it’s face, it seems harsh on yourself and…
This Is Us
When you think the problem is the answer, you’re helpless to solve it
“You have to call it what it is before you can tackle it.”
Those words repeat in my thoughts, bounce around my skull, and buzz under my skin. “But I don’t know what it is.”
“Okay. Describe again how you’ve been feeling the past month?”
“Tired, sluggish. My life just feels monotonous, so I’m bored and restless. I can’t focus on my class assignments, like at all, which is new for me. I keep not being able to sleep, so I feel like I’m moving underwater the next day. I used to love school. I just don’t care about it…
On Storytelling, Social Media, and Self
Most people just can’t love writers. There are some people who are fascinated by the way we make stories out of strangers in line at the grocery store, how we spend Saturday mornings scooping out traumas and beautiful bits, how we use our guts for paint on a page.
But there are some people who look at us like we have lost our damn mind. There are some people who grow frustrated when we point out flaws to the whole world. Some people trip over our metaphors, basket of issues, and abundance of sensitivity with impatience in their throat. …
Poetry to Start Black History Month
We call it #blackgirlmagic when a black woman makes a feast from the scraps. When she sings the morning after the murder. When she obliterates every obstacle in her path. When she forgives the perpetrator. When she tenderly wraps up the anguish and sorrow of others. When she turns her guts into glory. When she paints with her blood and sweat and tears. When she still shows up. Still beats the odds. Still loves.
We forget that magic is the power to make the impossible happen. The reason we are so miraculous is that they didn’t expect anyone to do…
Miyah Byrd
Hipster. Hooligan. Writer. Wanderer. Sad AF, but you'll learn some things.
