August 23, 2023 

I am a pixie,

enclosed in a flower,

every day slowly peeking through the petals at the world. 

Some days I see rain, and I feel glad to be warm in my flower.

Some days I see sunshine, and I wish I could go fly with the birds. 

When I am sad, I cry wishful tears, that dream of a world where I leave my flower and I’m not harmed by what lies outside. 

This feels so far from me, a taunting dream that makes reality seep into my wounds like acid, turning dull aches into screaming pains. 

I’m a pixie,

helplessly enclosed in a flower,

wings robbed by a bandit in the wild. 

---

A couple of years ago, I was assaulted and nearly kidnapped in a random attack. With my case never solved, I was left to find my own sense of peace and justice in the world. That event changed my ability to be safe and confident outside. Speaking to a therapist about my triggers, I asked, “When will the deep anxiety go away?” She replied,

“ It doesn’t.”

In a way, I’ll carry the effects of the assault with me forever, which is hard to accept. All I can do is rebuild what safety means to me, building in ability to cope with the trauma and distinguish real dangers from perceived ones.

Going outside is still hard. It even hurts. Every morning, anxiety engulfs me and turns my heart to a race. Still, I take a deep breath in and, sighing out, step into the world, feeling a bit stronger.

---

August 7, 2025

I am a pixie,

enveloped in a flower,

every day slowly peak through the petals at the world.

On days I see rain, I turn on my kettle to prepare a cozy cup of freshly brewed tea. 

On days I hear birds, I listen intently to their singing and chime in with my own tune. 

I still feel sad,

those days I cry cleansing tears and tell myself I don’t have to leave just yet, that I can enjoy inside’s comfort for a little while longer.

I also feel happy,

excitedly getting dressed for an adventure, breathing through the anxiety, dreaming of the moment the sun kisses my skin and the fresh air awakens my lungs. 

When I leave my flower, petals trail behind me, burrowing into the ground and growing determined blossoms. 

Every stride I take leaves a gentle breeze, making the sproutlings I left dance. 

My past can never leave me; It can easily be traced through the crevices in my mind.

It’s not a matter of hiding it, or forgetting it into irrelevance.

It’s a matter of accepting it, weeds and thorns among the violets. 

I am a pixie,

enveloped in a flower,

every day I peek through the petals at the world,

And thank the sun for blessing me with its warmth another day.