I know that I will
never touch you, still –
your strands of hair,
like the Milk Way stair
of heaven, beckon.

The toss of undefined,
unbraved seas of pined
for emotions must settle.
Boiling, I must cool the kettle
and steep darkly.

Fickle, fluttering, gusting flame –
waiting for you made me lame.
To the touch of life, I am rock,
broken and porous, yet lost from the flock
of other halflings.

Hope hurts, but lingers
like a beloved wound, fingers
poking it for sweet memories
trapped in what my heart sees
and keeps within close reach.


Indecision bites at me
like a snake
and I, squirming mouse,
collapse all too gleefully
in its endless embrace.

My body,
my skull,
the skin of my soul –
torn in twin directions,
unravelling willful sanity like
feeble twine.

Like the snake,
strands of choice and chance
wrap around me,
suck me breathless,
helpless in this false state.

I am like the goat,
encountering the mountain,
who chews the brown grass
of fear
for fear of finding
more than I can handle.

Transitional Time-Traveler

Where do you call home when you’re born in Between?

Despite some of the difficulties that come with being transgender, I am grateful for the opportunity I’ve had, experiencing life as a “girl”. The lovely and amusing thing about this experience is that I cannot even say that I lived on one side of the coin of life – there are more sides to that coin than there are in a pair of dice.

Still, this context – growing up in the wrong body, with confusing social cues directed my way –  has made it hard to feel stable in any one place. Though I know I identify as male, I also know it is not the only part of me and defines me only up to a point. Identifying as “trans” acknowledges my past and present, a community I am part of, and my approach towards life. I am never one thing, never defined by my presence.

Within my daily actions, the past sleeps, influencing, as it does in dreams. I am always on my way, moving, even as I react, act, or stay – my experience guides me. For ill or fair tidings, I know not, but I’ve come to accept that I will in good time. Whether I turn from past mistakes or continue practicing a pattern, I can view these hours as a life-time exploring who I am and what works for me.

So, where does one go if they’re born in Between? Forward, just as everyone else. One goes forward and brings the past with them, encapsulated in their own personal time machine – their body. This place – the body of the mind – this place is home. Graey Matters, a fog of thought that parts only as one walks through it; a fog that holds many destinations via many paths, but only one journey at a time. Take on the fog, fuel your fire, light your own path and know this: everywhere you’ve gone and been comes with you.

Between is a home of growth and change – an unclear house, but a blessing to be born into. And whether you know it or not, whether it’s plain to see or a secret place in your being, you have probably been born in an unclear house. Rarely, if ever, do people live with just one name, nor just one life.

A Ready Heart

Once, I saw a heart
in the green,
green grass

Flying from the arms of the
yews I pass
Beating, intent,
on the earthy bed

yet vibrant red.

Like a bloody tear
from a repressed eye
lost in the clouds
of a stable sky.

Eyes blue when it’s graey,
Eyes graey, when it’s blue.
Thorough in brow,
but smooth to pass through.

Whiskers brush,
as I bend to feel.
Shaven and raw,
when I search for real.

Itching the edge
of a skin like wool,
sinking down over
the eye so full.

Still, lifting its flaps,
just enough to peek,
a figure of fuzz
guides those who seek…

The heart I saw once.
Once, in the green,
green grass.
A single leaf from
an unending mass.


Open Letter to Your Future Self

Sitting right now

feels tight around the ears

might seem harder

but, believe my now

and how

the hurt, the heart

pangs on, in equal measures

Parallel tracks, like for locos

those motives, you know…

You love, loved, love


You won’t be so different

Just, older, prouder

scarred in bolder, more beautiful lines and

in a field of fruitful acts.

A Starting Place

As a writer and film/media maker, I ought to have done this a long time ago, but I struggled with how to begin. What will I choose as my main subject? Will this be a rambling first start, or the beginning of a great avenue of expression?

Well, time will tell – and I can always begin again.

So, I figured that beginning a blog might best begin with telling the world (or whoever may be reading – hello there!) a bit about myself and my background.

Having studied Film and Media Arts as an undergrad, dwelling in Visual Anthropology for a long vacation, focusing on screenwriting and discovering acting, I find my current status as thus: a very confused but impassioned college graduate, struggling to make their way forward. Not so odd, is it?

I find my interests swaying violently between language, translation, history, poetry, and film production, acting, animation, screenwriting, coding, Celtic Studies, and the trades. With a completely irrational but, completely, in-ignorable obsession with Wales and its history and culture, I intend to study in the UK – ideally Wales – gathering recreational experience in film production, but focusing my attention on Celtic Studies and Creative Writing. My interests in identity formation amongst the Celts and people of the UK probably derives from my transgender experience, which might be explored here as well.

With such a long intro put forth, I best leave with my intentions: to post the pieces of my creative process, to explore Welsh history (particularly the American Diaspora, ancient spirituality, and lore), and collect my thoughts on all of the things that dwell in-between.

On that note, W.E.