My agent asked for an updated author bio

This poem was written by a monster; this poet, too. A story of life when remembered by my mind would be an itemized list, which certainly tells a tale but not a very good one. I have dreams of another life. In between the joy of a memory, I pick apart my life and find the fragments of many little stories. A mind is a piece of microfiction. I just need to hear the laughter. And tomorrow the wind will choke me; the rain will force open my throat and crawl into my lungs. In my stillness, on the verge of a life lived, I will remember how my father walked the stairs for me and placed me on my bed, atop the sheets. I will remember how sickening it felt, looking up into the endless blackness of the ceiling without closing my eyes. I truly believed I would not wake again if I gave into it, but the dreams were too much to ignore. So the monster came, crawling out from underneath my bed. We became the same. I heal but never forget all the hurting places. I write my terror away, and the monster writes me. See the fingerprints on the pen, in the words, the blood. Trauma has turned my mind into sticky notes and conversations into scripts. The brain on illness is a time capsule of a mentality and the body is a ghost. I have dreams of another life. An illness borrows the parts of you death wishes to keep. And tomorrow I will feel all the hurting places and wonder if it was all truly borne from me.

Writing and photography by Hazel J. Hall.
Previously published by Bending Genres.

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