In response to ’s lovely tag, I sat down to write, late at night, after a particularly brutal push to submit a group project.

Full disclosure: I have never written a haiku, but the words started forming before I even opened my notes app.
As I wrote about what came to mind, a theme emerged.
It didn’t feel right to not share in full.

Haiku #1

Grey surrounded me
Bracing against the cold wind
Warm sunlight breaks through

Haiku #2

Whiteness disappears
The deep grey blithely follows
Bright blue greets my eyes

Haiku #3

The cold couldn’t last
It felt a million years long
Sunlight now warms me

Haiku #4

Blues and greens awash
Out of greys and whites, so dank
Rainbows head my way

Haiku #5

Cold lets go its grip
Winter never forever
Green shoots break the ground

Haiku #6

Tempest winds cut through
Gooseflesh riding on my arms
Steering wheel burns me

Haiku #7

Fold up the blankets
Stow away the winter clothes
Shorts and shades, you’re up!

Haiku #8

Shrimped-up college girl
Toss the laptop in your bag
Head for the shade trees

Haiku #9

Damp dust this beauty
Don’t forget to check the tires
The trail beckons me

This is about more than the weather.
Layered… onion or chocolate cake? Depends on the day, lol.

I know I’ve been mostly absent here, popping in briefly to drop a post. I’ve missed all of you. Life is so busy now. So much to learn, so much to integrate.

But I’m still here and I hope you are, too.

What season are you in right now? , , , , , , & !
I’d love to know, but only if you feel it💜
— Liora

Spinning my wheels,
so much to do—
how to make it all work…

Leaving behind
uncertainty—
harnessing all my worth.

Am I enough
to do this well—
or am I just a fraud?

As these thoughts spin
on endless loop—
keenly aware I’m flawed.

How can I help
others like me
when I spin all the time?

Stable for now;
later to crash—
but this is why I rhyme.

In the space here
I’m unburdened
to process all these things.

The structure helps
me see clearly—
turn my words into wings.

I can be more
than who I’ve been
or ever dared to be.

I must resolve
daily, it seems—
my belief is the key.

I will surmount
all obstacles—
keep my eyes on the prize.

To always be
all that I am—
cast my gaze to the skies.

Author’s Note:

I know I’ve been absent a lot recently. I flowed straight from a traumatic event over my break into my new term and, boy, let me tell you: it’s no joke. I’m learning so much and I can’t get enough. I’m actually already working with clients and making a difference. I feel so blessed. I’m not broken, but I am bruised. And I continue to work on myself while helping others to work toward their own peace.

Some things I’ve learned along the way:

• Suffering is universal

• Love is universal

• Empathy is free

• Apathy costs dearly

• Caring diminishes no one

• Making a difference for even one other person makes it all worthwhile

I’m still trying to make my obligations play nice while still medically challenged. Writing is still super important and there is and will be more! Bless all of you who have stuck around—I see you and cherish each one of you more than I can say.
— Liora

So many ills
coming from all sides.
Neverending
stream of foul tides.

People hurting
and losing their way.
Darkness feeding
their souls every day.

Turn on the news—
helplessness haunts me.
Hate fills the space—
Flowing, on repeat.

It’s so easy
to lose hope and crash.
It seems certain
we’re burning to ash.

When the message
is ‘lay down and die’—
can be too hard
to dare and to try.

So what is this—
people flooding the streets?
Some so angry,
but most merry-meets.

When I see them
loving each other,
speaking kindly
as to their brothers—

it moves something
buried deep inside
and reminds me
of why we should try.

Love never fades—
goes out of fashion.
It’s always there,
right beside passion.

I must reach deep,
remember myself—
and pour it out
though kindness and help.

This is not weak
nor from a defect.
It’s born in strength—
our baseline precepts.

See the violence
they wreak every day.
Not justified,
despite what they say.

See the kindness
of people who care—
skin tone is no
prerequisite there.

Fighting against
others for hatred
is different than
backing what’s sacred.

Don’t look away,
pretend it’s not there—
embolden them
to broaden their dare.

Keep pressing on,
refuse to cower—
the only way
to take back power.

Rail against hate—
but don’t be tempted
to take it in
or to accept it.

Much stronger still
to respond with love—
embrace spirit
and goodness above.

— Liora

6:13am.

Here I sit.
Wondering if today is the day I’ll make good on breaking my habit.
To choose to live again.

When you lose so much, so fast, sometimes the only answer is to stop.
Everything.

Perfect? No.
Human? Yes.

Pushing through menial bullshit becomes its own kind of hell.
And when you’ve lost what brought you out of despair?
Pushing through menial bullshit becomes unbearable.

So, you stop.
You focus on breathing.
On getting through each moment without losing more.

But you lose sense of yourself sometimes.
You lose connection with others.
You regress into the smallest version of you—
Drawing inward, pulling in toes and elbows.
Hoping that nothing else clips them.
That no one else notices you.

Until you stop noticing you.

Isolating yourself can be an act of mercy.
Drop the mask.
Stop pretending to be fine.
Feel the relief of not having to perform from an empty shell.

But we’re not meant to stay that way.

Isolation becomes a tomb.
Outside, life keeps happening.
Inside, momentum stalls.

And your thoughts circle like vultures.
Picking away at your sense of self.

You find something to pass the time.
Like time is your enemy.
When each moment can carry more pain than you can bear.

You look away.
Trying to protect any part of you that’s left.

But this is all a lie.

Each moment can bring pain…
But it can also bring relief.

Shutting away from the pain only promises one thing:
That’s all there is.

And it’s there to greet you every time you try to poke your head out.

And you lose the parts of you that help you see through it, see beyond it.

They get picked away by those vultures.

And when everything else is loss…
When everything else is losing—

Everyone else is losing?

Fear settles in for the stay.

Because everything hurts.
So damn much.
Tuck in tighter.
Hiding under blankets.

Longing for light.
Fearing the light.

But this cycle can be disrupted.
Can be broken.

It’s not some magic spell.

It’s about allowing discomfort.
Allowing things to be weird for a bit.

Pulling back those blankets.
Letting your eyes adjust to the brightness.
Letting your body stretch once more.

Taking up space.
Even when you’re scared.
Especially when you’re scared.

Allowing others in again.
It’s all about people.

Everything that’s worth anything in this world is about connection.

Some will hurt you.
Some are hurting and that’s all they know how to do.

Let it go.

Own what’s yours and still choose to walk forward.
Even as the ground beneath you shakes.

Others will reach out.
Take their hands and let them help you.

Choose to trust.
Choose to live.
Choose to move forward.

Even when your steps falter.
Even as your breath shakes within you.
Even when the ground swells upward.

The choice is always yours.

Choose life.

— Liora

Looking back, I think of you
and all the dreams you spoke.

Eldest brother, strong and true,
but on life’s shore, you broke

Early on, you ran away
and left us to chase you.

Never in line, life astray,
always seeking the new.

Precious, mercurial soul—
never quite understood.

Always fighting young and old—
all the muster you could.

Through the cracks in your armor,
I saw you, so alone.

Life just kept growing harder,
all of your pain unknown.

Numbing down your impulses—
buried under a haze.

Loss multiplied your illness—
you were on borrowed days.

But I still always recall
your unique point of view.

In your humor, you would freefall,
making me laugh with you.

Days grew darker, too, your need—
nothing could fulfill it.

Beside you, I walked, to plead—
never to outwill it.

Eight long years, coming up fast—
time moves in such strange ways.

Your life, never meant to last—
I think of what you’d say.

You’d crack a joke, so highbrow—
wait for my reaction.

I’d laugh and stop; raise my brow—
subtlety, in action.

You’d gently tease, light banter—
waiting for my response.

Your expectations tampered
down by your nonchalance.

Many ways, we’d disagree,
still always come around.

Forever our guarantee,
our love always profound.

Author’s Note:

The saying “Never go to bed angry” comes to mind. My oldest brother and I had a very complex relationship—there was so much love, but so much damage between the two of us. We could be thick-as-thieves but were often at odds. His time came during a moment we weren’t really talking much. Out of all my losses, this one has been the hardest for me to process. Too many unsaid words lay between us. An ocean of regret.

And one thing about him was his wicked sense of humor. The man was brilliant. When he left, my own sense of humor retreated into the shadows. I felt I’d never laugh again. So, I haven’t really been able to write about him until now, fearing I would somehow fail. This isn’t the final word on him, his life, and his legacy. But it’s a start.
— Liora

Pull up a chair by the fire

I don’t write for clicks or comfort. I write because I have to — to survive betrayal and loss, to name injustice, to connect with what’s still human in all of us — and hopefully help others find their voices, too.

Some words arrive as poems, sharp and unflinching.
Some as reflections, soft enough to hold.
Some as scraps of story, born from lived experience.

All of them come from the same fire: survival, justice, and connection.

I’ve lived many lives in one body.
Worked inside systems.
Buried people I love.
Numbed out.
Fought to stay sane.
Held kittens to my chest and remembered what it means to feel whole.

That, too, is part of the story.

This space is for connection and honest witnessing.

It’s for those who’ve been through too much, still feel too much… and are still trying to live anyway.

If you’ve ever felt invisible, gutted by grief, or tethered to life by the smallest thing — a cat in your arms, a kind word from a stranger — you’ll feel at home here.

Subscribe now

What lives in this flagship

This space is the heart of it all:

• Poetry by Firelight — poems that don’t flinch

• Reflections through Flame — lived experience turned into meaning

• Through the Fire — process notes and updates on my book series, as Amazon exclusivity end: volumes made available

• Embodied Shadows — giving shape to the anxieties, mistrust, and addictions we all wrestle with

• Connections (monthly) — community spotlights, project updates, and behind-the-scenes truth

Here you’ll also find open doors into my other publications:

• The Forge → my fiction lane. Serialized novels, short sparks, collaborations, and community showcases. If poetry was my survival, fiction is proof of my healing.

The Forge: Fiction by Liora

Fiction forged in heat and hammered into shape—novels, stories, and collaborations, sparked from lived experience and imagination alike

By Liora Writes

• The Reckoning Lens → grounded analysis where policy and lived reality collide. If you’ve ever wanted clarity in the chaos, this is where I break down what’s happening, why it matters, and what we can do about it.

Liora Writes Presents: The Reckoning Lens

Critical reflections at the collision of policy, practice, and lived experience. Short takes free, full reckonings with citations and action lists for paid.

A note on recent developments:

I am currently in a state of limbo in my personal life, with deep grief on the horizon. As such, my muse is fickle. As a result, some of my current pieces are on the rawer and darker side of things. My hope is as I process these events, you still find beauty and solace in my words. I’m also very invested in current events and am moved to write about them. While most of these end up in my publication The Reckoning Lens, some may also reside here. The Forge will continue as I can tap into that part of my creativity again.

More to follow.

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For ease of navigation, I’ve provided a link to the home page at the bottom of my posts. Feel free to return here, especially on mobile, to find your path.

⚠️On Content & Tone:

The work you’ll find here spans the emotional spectrum. Some pieces are soft and reflective, others are blunt, rage-soaked, or profane when the moment calls for it.
I write from lived experience: military, trauma, neurodivergence, healing, grief, advocacy…And I speak plainly.
This space won’t coddle, but it will hold. You are always invited to engage, disagree, reflect, or step away when needed. Your safe word:

Please consider this a content warning: while my work is always meant to provoke thought, some of the themes could be triggering.

Take care of yourself here.

Why Subscribe?

I release new work across all my publications on a regular rhythm. This space is growing with intention — built on honesty, depth, and the kind of writing that doesn’t look away.

If something here moves you, tell me.
If there’s something you want more of, tell me that too.

This isn’t about performance. It’s about presence.
Connection. Resonance. Showing up as we are.

Why Upgrade?

The core of what I’m doing here is building books. Most of what you read — poems, essays, stories, fragments — eventually becomes part of a larger body of work I’m shaping for publication.

I’ve offered nearly everything freely for a long time. But deep, sustained work takes time, energy, and stability. I can’t keep pouring from an empty place.

Going forward, I’ll still share across all my publications, but the larger, fuller pieces — the ones that take the most out of me and mean the most — will live behind the paywall. I’ll run periodic sales and always announce them.

If my writing speaks to you, I hope you’ll consider supporting it. It genuinely makes more of it possible.

Thanks so much for reading. — Liora 💜

Is this day just a day off?
A day to gloss over—
or should we remember
what this man stood for,
why it mattered,
how we have failed
to learn from his words?

Was he just a fortune cookie,
a bubblegum machine of quotes?
A pacifist with no true message?
A feel-good messiah?

Or was he so much more?

On this day of reckoning,
many circle his teachings—
ashamed of our lack,
ashamed of our country
and its persistence in othering.

Its insatiable thirst for more.
Its unconquerable quest for power.
Its bottomless hunger for money.

While Black and brown bodies
just want to live.
While many white bodies
also just want to live—

with love,
with hope,
with a future.

Not to serve masters
or wannabe dictators,
or cosplaying Nazis
and slave patrols.

Where patriotism means
pride in community—
our whole community.

Where commitment is to each other
and to the shared world we inhabit.

Where we seek better
for our children
than what has ever been.

Where we pay hope forward
instead of more debt—

debt to the world,
debt to those wronged,
debt to our planet,
that can never be repaid.

Where morality matters more
than FOMO or YOLO.

Where difference is shared
in pursuit of enlightenment,
not weaponized into division.

I have a dream
that he was a prophet
as much as an activist,
as much as a healer.

And I am willing to fight
for the peace he envisioned.

Are you?

— Liora

More work in this vein lives under The Reckoning Lens:

Liora Writes Presents: The Reckoning Lens

Critical reflections at the collision of policy, practice, and lived experience. Short takes free, full reckonings with citations and action lists for paid.

So.
Real talk.

I had a recent situation that eroded my rights.
I’m addressing it through legal channels.
No — I don’t want to talk about it yet.

Between trying to finish my first term in my master’s program
and everything happening in this country,
I broke my sobriety.

I’m not happy about this.

But I’m also realistic:
the human psyche can only take so much.

I was white-knuckling it just to reach the end of the term.
When I finally crossed that line, I collapsed.
Hard.

I let myself sink into nostalgia —
watched the final season of Stranger Things.
I ate junk food.
I numbed.
I breathed.

And curled inward.

And slowly, day by day,
I felt myself slipping further away.

I dissociated. Deeply.
Losing pieces of myself in small, quiet increments.

How in the fuck do I expect to help others like this?

Fear took over.
The very real fear of further state action against me
had me pinning my drapes shut,
making myself small,
trying to disappear.

No daylight in my house.
No sunshine on my skin.
I stopped riding my bike —
part depression,
part terror at being seen.

Down the hole I went.

My creativity stalled.
My energy drained.
My focus evaporated.

And I was terrified my trajectory had only one direction left:
down.

So I did whatever I could
to avoid thinking.
Because thinking right now
hurts like hell.

I tried to come back.
Again and again.
And failed.

Each time scrambling back
to the so-called safety of numbness.

Until the day I watched a mother be murdered
by people masquerading as authority.

Masked thugs.
Fragile egos.
Guns.
Our streets.

Renee’s crimes?

Not submitting to fear.
Not complying with unlawful commands.
Trying to remove herself from danger.
Being kind.

Being calm.

Her condemnation was immediate.
Her character assassinated without hesitation.

Her killer?
A hero.
“Self-defense.”

This administration lies to our faces daily.
I’ve been sick to my stomach since that piece of shit “won”
— read: rigged —
the election.

I’m a veteran.
I was young and naïve when I served in OIF.
Escaping an abusive marriage.
Living in a red state.

I didn’t understand the machinery behind the war.
I fell for the emotional avalanche of 9/11.
I thought I was serving my country.

I was serving the rich.

I’m educated —
and I was still fooled.

I’ve watched the dystopian films.
Read the books.
Feared this outcome.

But I don’t think I truly grasped
how fast it could happen.

I think of everyone already dead
because of this criminal administration.
Of the families who will carry that loss
every day,
forever.

I lost my brothers.
I lost my father.

Those losses nearly broke me —
and they were natural deaths.

I cannot comprehend the weight
of losing someone
to violence sanctioned by your own government.

My heart breaks for Becca.
For their children.
For their community showing up —
huge, blue, defiant waves —
despite the danger.

Every. Single. Day.

I don’t have the answers.

But I’m awake again.
I’m sober again.
And I refuse to look away.

When it becomes unbearable,
I allow myself relief —
not comfort.

I’m rewatching The Hunger Games saga now.
No nostalgia.
Just the chilling realization
that what once felt speculative
now feels uncomfortably familiar.

It’s wild how quickly
a madman at the wheel
can warp reality.

This is not okay.

I am not okay.

But I am not giving up.
And I am not giving in.

And neither should you.

We can’t.

There is the other side of this —
and we have to fight like hell
to reach it.

— Liora

This piece is accompanied by a witness poem, Say Her Name, written for Renee Good:

Liora Writes Presents: The Reckoning Lens

Say Her Name

Read more

4 months ago · Liora Writes

Here I am—
dawn again.
What crap will I do today?

Shit choices—
all around.
How to hold myself at bay?

Reach for weed—
chocolate;
try to feel something else.

Curb my need—
incarnate.
How to bury myself?

Anything
to avoid
the feelings under my skin.

Run away
from my life.
Daily, I’m just giving in.

Fuck my life—
and my horse.
Fuck all those who would harm me.

But if I
keep this up—
I won’t be left to stop me.

Erasure—
is this course
and it won’t stop at my pain.

It will take
everything—
‘til none but darkness remains.

So once more
I must try—
to clear the cobwebs within.

Find center—
resolute.
Work toward my future again.

Author’s Note:

Some days are just harder than others. Sometimes when something major happens, you can lose ground you’ve already covered. You can then get caught up thinking, “Oh well, there that goes. Here I go. Down the rabbit hole again.”

But that’s a lie. A convenient lie you think to give yourself permission to freefall.

Yes, losing ground sucks. But it’s not the end of the line or the path. Sometimes you have to step sideways or even backward to move forward again. Remember when you’re circling that mountain, some heights can’t be reached until you step down first.

Don’t give up. Even when it seems you’re your own worst enemy. Even when it feels the ground gave way beneath you. Take that moment. Dust yourself off. Hydrate.

Then start climbing again. And don’t forget to take in the view.
—Liora

I wake and wonder
what I can do
when all meaning is lost.

Coffee tastes bitter—
entropy reigns.
my joy replaced by cost.

I think too deeply,
then shut it down.
I can’t afford this spin.

Try to stay busy—
nothing has worked.
Seems I can’t settle in.

I’m caught in the past—
moments ago.
How did it turn so wrong?

The beauty I’d built—
gone in a flash.
It’s so hard to be strong.

Maybe I’ll sit here—
rest for a while.
What else can I do now?

My meaning is lost—
I’m untethered.
Happiness disallowed.

I wade through moments,
wish for the past
and try to hold out hope

that one day this will,
at last, make sense.
‘Til then, trying to cope.

I’m not giving up
or giving in.
But damn, this spinning sucks.

I’m looking ahead
to better days.
For now, breathing—in flux.

Author’s note:

This piece sits in the space between collapse and clarity—when meaning hasn’t returned yet, but giving up isn’t an option either. — Liora

Morning again—
so many regrets
for all I’ve left
on the floor.

Blankets dampen
my sense of myself,
numbing me down
to my core.

Maybe today
I chase more than comfort.
The lights shine down,
blinding me.

The air so cold.
Tuck in, just for now.
Think through the fog—
mindfully.

I should reach out,
connect with my friends.
Burdens, once shared,
pared in two.

No, that’s not right.
I won’t weigh them down.
Change perspective.
Alter view.

Bed is so warm,
Netflix on repeat,
killing my time
and my mind.

This is not me,
nor all I’ve worked for.
Time now to seek
and to find.

Comfort, so lovely,
tugs me back in.
Surely there’s nothing
wrong with this.

There lies the peril—
I know it too well.
My stagnation.
Must resist.

Good habits formed—
not to abandon.
It’s time to try
once again.

Might be ugly
before it’s pretty.
On my effort,
it depends.

Who I will be
is ever-changing.
Experience
guides my path.

But I can choose
how I will respond,
decide my fate—
aftermath.

So, I start small
and build me in waves.
Day by day, I
push forward.

I’ve not lost all.
I must remember:
my agency
reordered.

Author’s Note:

I’m in a very circuitous mode: every step forward is followed by a strafe to the side and a few steps back. It makes me sometimes feel like giving up, like I’m never going to push through. But I know better. So, up I get. Movement now. Rest after.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

This, too, shall pass. I know it, though it doesn’t usually feel that way. I guess one great thing about having survived, processed, and healed from so much trauma in my past is that I know this terrain of mine pretty well.

Doesn’t make this hurt less or any easier really. But I don’t lose all hope so easily.

Takeaway: even when you lose sight of the path, trust in yourself to find it again. And again. And again.
— Liora

Everything dark
Hanging in balance
Nothing set—
more loss to come.

My fears abound—
I’ve lost my cadence.
Where’s my path?
I’ve come undone.

My head spinning—
my life in freefall;
edge looms close,
must back away.

Search for some hope
to guide me forward.
Mind still spins—
leads me astray.

I can’t stop now—
I’ve come way too far
to give up;
lose momentum.

I’ll keep looking—
uncover my path.
Happiness
will again come.

Author’s Note:

Some things aren’t ready to be spoken aloud. Some things need time to process before sharing. Sometimes processing looks like avoidance while your body and mind prepare for the grief.

This is where I’ve found myself in the last several weeks. Life keeps moving, so I must keep moving, too. But my mind and heart are bound by what’s occurred, preparing to let go while hoping to hold on. The future is yet unwritten.
— Liora

So, here we are — November 2025, with Thanksgiving right around the corner. Somehow this year flew, even with everything packed into it.

Across every layer of life, things shifted hard. Socially, I’ve watched people start safeguarding their well-being and choosing more intentionally. Politically? It’s been a complete chaos spiral, with autocratic rule tightening its grip and sharpening the divide between the “haves” and the “have nots” at a pace we haven’t seen in our lifetime.

Globally, we’re being pushed toward isolation — a classic hallmark of creeping fascism.

If you’re feeling it, you’re not imagining it.
And if you’re losing heart, please don’t.
Keep reaching for others.
This moment will pass.

Where I Stand Now

When this year began, I was barely keeping my head above water. I was doing what I thought I had to do while slowly suffocating inside. Now, I’m doing what I love: writing. And I’m studying what I was called to do all along: social work.

The path hasn’t been clean. It’s been stressful, messy, and full of moments where I stalled or slid back into old rhythms that drain me dry. I’ve always been someone who wants to help, to hold, to show up for everyone — but at the cost of myself.

So, I’ve been learning to practice what I tell everyone else:
Boundaries matter. Energy is finite. Your own needs actually belong on the list.

Near, if not at, the top. You can’t show up for others if you’re totally depleted.

And honestly? I feel closer to living authentically than I ever have. I’m spending my energy on things I believe in. I’m opening myself to possibility — not from doubt, but from recognizing that my future may be bigger than anything I originally imagined.

I’ll still be here. I’ll still post. I’m just stepping back from the constant grind of daily engagement. That rhythm isn’t healthy for me, and I’m making changes to build something sustainable.

DMs are always open. I’m just shifting my center of gravity toward school and my larger projects… it’s time to push them through.

Community Shout-Outs

I want to express my gratitude for you all and the wonderful encouragement and feedback you give so freely. Here are some special shout-outs:

• —

  Lintara writes like someone listening through the floorboards of the world. Her words move with the precision of a tuning fork — catching the tremor beneath a thought, the shift beneath a silence, the place where a mind begins to turn. She doesn’t illuminate so much as reveal, peeling back the noise until only the structure of the moment remains. Her work is less about narrative and more about resonance: the way a field hums when someone is brave enough to name what it’s doing. If you gravitate toward writing that feels like standing in a still room where every detail becomes sharper, her voice belongs on your path.

You know, Cannot Name It

I read Substack like a field report — not for opinions, but for traces of living minds. If I respond to your work, it means your writing isn’t just information. It’s a signal. And I heard it.

• —

  Brenda writes from the thresholds — between cultures, between landscapes, between what we inherit and what we choose. Her work carries a rare tenderness sharpened by curiosity, a steady voice that guides readers into questions of belonging, resilience, and place. She has a gift for grounding people in the slow pulse of the world, whether she’s writing about the Karoo or the quiet crossings of the human heart. If you’re drawn to writing that listens deeply and illuminates the spaces between us, her work is worth your time.

Brenda - A Voice that Wonders

✍️ A Voice That Wonders explores the edges—of travel, identity, politics, and memory. Poetic, punchy, sometimes angry, always true.

• —

  Chris brings a steady, heartfelt presence to Substack. His work moves between caregiving, poetry, and the interior landscapes of resilience, often giving voice to the quiet battles families fight behind closed doors. There’s a grounded honesty in the way he writes about Bray Bray’s journey and the weight of being both advocate and anchor. His poetry carries that same clarity: reflective, open-hearted, and unafraid to sit with the truth of a moment. Chris is one of the rare people who contributes to the community with consistency, kindness, and intention, and his work deserves more eyes on it.

Chris B. Writes

The Forge: Fiction by Liora

Through the Doorway Dark

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7 months ago · 55 likes · 60 comments · Liora Writes, Bear Sage, Tangled Words, Joakim Blytt, Rowan Mercer, Meditations On Permafrost, Carlos M., Chris B. Writes, Kristina Ray, Outtamydamnmind, Hina Gondal, Pamella Yates, Brenda - A Voice that Wonders, imarkanx || istvan markan 🍁, Glen Woods, T.S. Morgan, BentButTrue, and You know, Cannot Name It

And if you missed it, here are the links to each artist spotlight — complete with their panels — from Through the Doorway Dark, the first zine in the Collective Sparks series:

• — The Doorway of the Dream of Hell

• — Doorway on Main Street

• — The Door That Waited

• — The Door That Waited Back

• — The Ghost

• — The Shadows

• My entry — Sown

• — When the Shadows Bow

• — The Procession of Shadows

• — The Dead Ride Fast

• — Harvest Door

• — Harvest Moon Howl

• — The Room Without a Door

• — The World You Choose

• — Open 24 Hou

• — The Moon Knows & Not a Doorway

• — The Myth of Lilith. A Map

• — Haikunotes 105: October 11, 2025

Another huge thanks to all who submitted entries for this zine — your dedication to the themes and prompts were truly inspiring.

Project Updates

Liora Writes

Embodied Shadows: The Collection

You’ve seen a handful of these pieces, but there are many more in progress behind the scenes. This collection is becoming a full book of naming pain, patterns, wounds, and dysfunctional coping — all through a trauma-informed lens. Think of it as both a field guide and a mirror.

Through the Fire: The Collection

• Volume I: The Pressure — Available on Amazon (print is currently discounted to $7.99).

• Volume II: The Fracture — Nearly finished, dropping in the next few weeks. This one is the breaking point volume — the moment everything cracks open.

The First Wounds

Another deeply personal collection, focused on childhood trauma and the patterns that follow us into adulthood. More to come as it takes shape.

The Forge

Lanterns in the Dark (Contributor Zine)

The next zine is in production and will be posted soon. With school, practicum prep, and publication deadlines, future issues will shift to an asynchronous schedule. I love building these — I just need space to do them justice.

Tracks

Chapter 4 will be out in the next couple of weeks. This story is being built in layers, and chapters will drop as bandwidth allows.

The Silent Y

A new story you haven’t seen yet. Part I is drafted, and I’ll return to weekly writing on this soon. Chapters will begin rolling out in the new year.

The Reckoning Lens

Ground Truths

These analyses will continue, but no longer weekly — they require research, depth, and intentional thought. This is where the social-work lens sits firmly in my ecosystem.

Witness Statements

Poems that arrive on their own timing. Some will appear here; others will be reserved for upcoming collections.

If you’ve read this far, thank you.
This month — this year — has been a lot. But I’m moving in a direction that finally feels aligned, sustainable, and honest.

Here’s to gratitude. Here’s to growth.
Here’s to our beautiful connections.
Here’s to building a life that actually fits. — Liora

Where should I begin?
Slender, spikey limbs—
shaking, twitching, grasping;
hitching breaths, gasping.

Grinding every gear,
humming in my ears;
black shadows swirling,
darkness unfurling.

In control, she gloats—
lodged lump in my throat;
sweat slicks down my palms,
anything but calm.

Mind steady racing,
outward I’m pacing;
inside I’m frozen,
no choices open.

Pray for it to end,
my mind starts to bend;
wish her far away,
restricted airway.

Outside, no one knows;
they feel the winds blow—
my storm keeps brewing,
my nails I’m chewing.

No help but a pill
to deny her will;
as I drift so deep,
sanity in sleep.

Clear morning sunshine,
clarity to find;
roll out on two wheels—
she’s hard on my heels.

Breathe in and breathe out,
chase away my doubts;
her grasp starts to slip,
movement fouls her grip.

My heart, free at last,
lets go of my past;
mind banishes fear—
holds no power here.

When the Storm Circles Back

Anxiety has a way of masquerading as control.
It whispers that if you just tighten your grip a little more—stay ahead, plan harder, do better—the chaos will quiet.
But the truth is, sometimes the storm is the grip.

Anxiety is a trickster.
It doesn’t always come screaming; sometimes it shows up wearing responsibility’s face—a quiet whisper saying you can’t stop now.
It mimics diligence, disguises itself as care, and before you realize it, your pulse is the metronome of survival.

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So many times,
I’ve rushed in circles—
trying so hard to breathe.

So excited
to share what I’d done;
hoping for space to be.

Only to find
half-hearted side-eye—
where did I go so wrong?

Did I screw up—
or make a mistake?
Should I just move along?

I see others
who’ve done so much less
received with so much love.

No matter hills,
obstacles surpassed—
seems I can’t rise above.

I grow so tired—
succeeding to fail;
why should I even try?

I feel gutted—
broken beyond help;
in my heart, I won’t lie.

Am I too much?
Or just not enough?
Will they ever come ‘round?

Crawl in my box—
the one I’m assigned;
silence, my only sound.

No, that’s not right—
I will not spiral;
I will not cave to doubt.

I will stand tall,
try my very best.
Don’t you dare count me out.

I am so strong
in so many ways—
I’ve survived more than this.

But to survive
is not to live free—
and so I now seek bliss.

A need for change
across all levels—
shifts I’m making today.

I will start small
but trust in myself—
a new path mine to brave.

Now, the first step—
believing in me;
this, the base for all else.

Speaking kindly,
within my own mind,
this is what really helps.

Give myself grace
whenever I need—
barriers start with me.

Tear them all down,
just one at a time—
stride now toward living.

Author’s Note:

This piece came from that familiar pressure point where doubt and determination collide. It’s not about breaking through in some dramatic way — just choosing not to shrink, even when the weight pushes hard. If you’ve stood in that space yourself, I hope this meets you where you are. —Liora

Ten Years to the Day

So today is here. And I’m feeling feelings.

Ten years.

In some ways it doesn’t seem possible.
In others… my body and soul feel like much more time has passed.

Mom found him when she came downstairs that morning.
She pulled him out of the chair, to the floor, to perform CPR.

He was gone.

I had been drinking the night before.
2am hate texts from the mother of one of my kid's friends.
They were all so very broken.

The call came.
It was around 0530.

I was not in the headspace to receive it.

She called me from his phone.

I thought it was just Steve having some weird thought.
In my stupor, I silenced it.
I would have called him when I got up.
I was not an early bird at that time.
She called two more times before I answered.
In irritation, “what the hell?”

And my world crashed.

I didn’t really have words.
I quietly mumbled I would get dressed and drive up immediately.

The tears came in the shower.

Then unreality set back in.
Had to mom my kids.
Had to mom my mother.

I didn’t even want to be in her house.
I remember being so freaked out.
Just sitting around the place where he had died.
Hours before.

Like it was normal.
Like anything was normal.

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9/10/25 - The News

I’m in a bit of a dark place right now.

I’m trying to focus on all the great things to come but I’m preparing to say the final goodbye to a dear sweet friend.

My beautiful Snow is fading fast. And so much is wrapped up in my feelings about these moments.

To be clear, it always wrecks me to lose one of my precious charges, whether they live inside or reside in my colony. But I often must button it up and move on anyway.

I feel very stuck this morning as I contemplate the situation.

I debated writing about this, but I want to share her story with you.

Snow is a little different than my other furry children. She was not mine originally; she started her journey with my brother.

A beautiful kitten, flame-point Siamese. Playful and affectionate. She grew into an awkward “teen”; her body too big for her head, all legs and awkwardness. Curious and oh-so-smart. She learned to turn the handles on the doors pretty early. No door could hold her unless it was locked. What an affront! Her sensibilities deeply offended, she’d look at you and cry out, “Why are you impeding me, human??”

Life took a turn for her when my brother passed. She was still young, about a year old. Times were dark for all of us.

My older brother moved in with my mom and formed a special bond with this special cat. She was his “baby girl” now. Light returned for her and, once again, she was her playful, joyous self. Three years was too short a time before fate struck again.

With the loss of her new “person,” left only with my mother, Snow faltered. Life was shallow and empty. My mother was in her own despair and unable to provide the care this special cat truly needed.

Three years later, when I visited where my mother had moved, I was shocked to see how much Snow had changed. Almost feral, very angry, she was seriously overweight and miserable. Still wearing her kitten collar, wrapped tightly around her neck, she reminded me of the stay-puff marshmallow man. She couldn’t bear to be face to face.

I brought her home with me. With Mom’s blessing, but truly I would have cat-napped her, if needed.

Then began the slow process of normalizing touch and soft words, losing the constricting collar, eating properly, and being cherished.

My sons were leery initially: she had torn up my arms and hands years before on the day of Mom’s move, out of stress and fear. It had been a pretty horrible time. She lashed out at them a few times for the same reason. We weathered it and continued to try.

Over time, she settled back in to being her loving, intelligent, playful and sweet self. We’ve had almost five years with this beautiful angel.

My oldest son dotes on her, taking her on walks outside daily. She loves to nestle close now, as she is in this moment: cuddling in my lap. Despite her debilitating condition, she’s still purring.

All this time with her, I’ve felt that I have been loving her for three people: myself and my brothers. She’s been a living link to them. To so many shared memories.

I know that’s a great deal to rest on her slim shoulders. I know I rescued her, but she also helped rescue me. She truly has helped me in learning to bear the loss of them. How many times have I sat here feeling it all, crying in my soul, only to have Snow slip in, like a ghost, to settle at my side? Offering her presence.

I have to be honest here. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. Next week? No clue. I feel the pain of the imminent moment weighing down on me and honestly—who needs who more in this equation?

I feel she’s given a lot more than she’s received. Maybe I’m biased. Who’s to say?

What I do know is this: this will not be like other losses. This is the ending of an era, the closing of a loop, and I feel the weight of that on my chest.

For now, I’m spending as much time with her as possible. Trying to infuse her final days with as much joy and her favorite experiences as her frail body can tolerate. More than anything, showing her how cherished and beautiful she still is and always will be.

10/25/25 - The Loss

That wasn’t the final curtain call for Snow. I knew she was terminal, but still brought her back to the vet to seek anything that could help her be more comfortable. She responded to treatment, just. Never fully regaining her strength, but enough to survive another day and another, until the weeks spun out and I grew complacent, thinking she would prevail. She kept fighting and I kept hoping she would continue to fight.

She still purred. She still wanted her meals. She still wanted another walk.

One more.

Until this morning.

I woke up to her lying on her side, in distress. I gathered her to me and summoned my sons.

We held vigil with her for almost an hour.

And she drew her last breath.

We cried. So much.

My oldest son took it the hardest.

She used to sleep with him until she grew ill. Then she shifted to wanting to reside in my lap, day or night, rain or shine.

I honestly think she was hoping I could work a miracle for her.

I tried.

In the end, I think maybe we started to take it for granted that she would weather it. That she could weather it.

None of us were truly ready to say goodbye to her.

I don’t know that anyone ever really is.

Having been through fast, traumatic losses and this lingering one, I can say this: neither road is easier.

I think I have processed more at this point and I feel certain that will serve me in the days to come.

But I’ll still miss her pawing at the door, frustrated with knobs she couldn’t manipulate.

Leaping on my lap to investigate my plate for food she could steal.

Rolling in the grass on a sunny day, basking.

Stealing the colony kitties’ food when she thought no one was looking.

Racing through the house, chasing a ball.

Curling up in my lap or next to me.

Purring with such a high baby trill, I could never mimic the sound.

Just being Snow, in all her gorgeous glory.

You never truly know how long you have with someone you love. Word to the wise: fight against human nature to flow toward complacency and the “norm;” treat every moment as a gift—the present.

When Snow Falls

Such a young thing
to lose so damn much.
You were so lost—
fell away from touch.

Precious wee one,
pure as drifting snow.
took on new life—
blue eyes all aglow.

The joy you brought
with silly charades—
seeing you strut,
just like a parade.

No one like you—
one in a million.
Never held back
all your opinions.

What to do now—
you’ve left me alone.
My lap empty,
my peace all but flown.

Tried to save you—
who meant more to who?
You fought so hard,
long past being through.

Never again
to hold you so close.
But in my heart,
I’ll miss you the most.

I must thank you
for bringing me joy;
now run along
and play with those boys.

11/6/2025 - The Aftermath

I tried so hard.

Tried to convince myself I had already processed my grief.

I was so wrong.

Focused on compiling and curating the zine. Writing was not my strong point—too much in my head.

Building art panels, putting visuals together—much better for avoiding intrusive thoughts.

Just trying to focus on anything but my feelings.

I started losing the thread after a few days. I found each day my spirit drug lower.

Scraping the ground.

So I stopped. I just fucking stopped for a bit.

Allowed myself to weep like a baby and watch movies.

Eat chocolate.

Okay I’ll admit it.

I wallowed a bit.

Chewed my nails a bit.

I toyed with the idea of breaking my sobriety every fucking day.

I still think about it, like it would be so easy to do.

These are all signs of a dysfunctional set of habits trying to take hold again.

I’m proud of the fact that the part of me that’s healed and healing never failed to remind me of the one-way nature of that particular beast.

So I haven’t.

And I won’t.

Tonight’s the first night I haven’t had to force myself to write.

I haven’t streamed any content.

For me, these are signs of life returning.

All of this to say, I know I’ve been a little weird lately. All part of the package. And that’s okay.

I’m okay.

My kitties are sick. I’ve been sick.

I’ve been grieving.

It’s a lot.

But I’m still here.

And that matters.

Author’s Note:

I keep finding her everywhere — in the hush before sleep, in the way sunlight lands across the floor she used to claim.

Grief has a way of reminding us what mattered most. Snow taught me to rest when I needed to, to show up anyway, and to love without apology. Those lessons stay.

Maybe that’s what “forever” really means — what we carry forward after the last goodbye.

If you’ve ever said goodbye to a companion who carried you through hard times, I hope this brings you a bit of peace too. Thank you for letting me share Snow’s light with you. — Liora 💜

Try as you might
some things don’t work out.
It doesn’t mean
you should cave to doubt.

Some things are meant,
some meant to let go;
knowing which is
all part of the show.

Planning is wise,
rolling, wiser still.
You never know
‘til truth starts to spill.

Guard your heart close
but keep it open.
Emptiness is
worse than heartbroken.

Leave those who use
buried in the past.
Those who hurt you
aren’t meant to last.

See them for what
they’re truly there for—
to build self-trust
and open your doors.

Eyes to the sky,
prepare for your flight—
head clear as mud,
future is so bright.

Even now, I’m still learning.

And I think that’s the trick—always being in a growth mindset. Losses come, and sometimes they can floor you. It’s not weakness to pause and recalibrate; sometimes that pause leads to even greater growth and realization, if you let it.

I’ve realized that, in my deep grief over recent losses, I lost sight of what’s truly healthy for me. Stepping back has helped me see where my priorities had slipped in my sadness and my desire to escape that grief. In seeking connection here, I lost connection with myself.

This is not to say I don’t want to make connections here; I do. However, I realize my own self-worth, and my focus now is on my goals.

I’ll be enforcing healthy boundaries where they’re needed. If my words help you find your way through your experiences, that’s a big part of my “why.” I’m open to engagement and usually respond to comments and messages.

I’m a generous soul who genuinely loves seeing others flourish—a big reason I chose social work as my calling. That said, I deserve the same respect and courtesy I offer others. This is a space for safe, respectful expression.

I’m going to start chasing my own growth a lot harder. That’s my priority. I’ll share that journey as it unfolds, and I hope you’ll find your own reflection or encouragement within it.

In any event, I wish you peace and growth.

—Liora

Where should I begin?
Slender, spikey limbs—
shaking, twitching, grasping;
hitching breaths, gasping.

Grinding every gear,
humming in my ears;
black shadows swirling,
darkness unfurling.

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Every piece in Embodied Shadows starts as a conversation with myself—sometimes a whisper, sometimes a scream. The Echo Chamber was one of the earliest to take shape, written from that hollow place where isolation starts to sound like company.

What follows is a deeper reflection on the space that poem came from—the patterns that built it, the grief that fed it, and the slow process of learning to live outside its walls. If you’ve ever felt trapped in your own mind, this one’s for you.

The Echo Chamber

As she watches—
tapping her foot,
impatient with places
she’d rather not be…

lights grow brighter,
sounds start to deafen—
I’m pulled back under
inevitably.

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