What is age? What is truth? What is time? If I feel like I’m 18, or 28, or whatever, why can’t I be?
Rachel wants you to be free. Even if it's scary.
Food, you are sublime, terrifying, and filled with struggle. I love you, but why must you cause such guilt and fear?
A poem about my potential encounter with my deceased grandmother one Yom Kippur—and fear, doubt, mystery, and the mystical power of the sun.
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