Dear Hillary


Alright, that’s it.

I’m doing it.

The time has come.

I’m taking on …

the pantsuit.


Womp. Womp. Sorry if that was a let down.

But in light of the recent political conventions, I have finally worked up the courage to talk about something that I have wanted to “tackle” for a long time.

The Pantsuit.

Or rather, what it stands for.

Now, some people may have watched the conventions and gotten all hot and bothered about the political “superheroes” in attendance. The brilliant/moving/potentially lifted speeches. The cause-for-concern weight of former presidents and their affinity for oversized balloons.

But I was focused on one thing: The Pantsuit.

Now, I must begin with this…it was so unfortunate that both the headlining women wore white. I mean, for the love, Melania Trump is a gosh darn vision in white. Not that Hillz wasn’t beautiful in her own right, but her stylist should have realized…

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Here in the forest

dark and deep

I offer you eternal sleep

Here ‘neath the willows

flowing free

I bring to you tales of the deep

Here ‘neath the dogwoods

white petals fall

Give up your swords before you lose all

Here on the fields

their life-blood seeps

Angels lift their souls up to eternal peace


–The light will lead us on



Social Anxiety Disorder (social phobia) is the third largest mental health care problem in the world today. (Social Anxiety Association)

“Emotional Symptoms

The feelings that accompany social anxiety include anxiety, high levels of fear, nervousness, automatic negative emotional cycles, racing heart, blushing, excessive sweating, dry throat and mouth, trembling, and muscle twitches. In severe situations, people can develop a dysmorphia concerning part of their body (usually the face) in which they perceive themselves irrationally and negatively.
Constant, intense anxiety (fear) is the most common symptom.”  (SAA)
Everyday Experiences Made Difficult by S.A.D.
My mother insists that a phone call has to be made to my college adviser about a missing financial statement. It’s someone I’ve met before and she seems nice enough. I like her and have less fear of judgement from her than many people. 
I beg and plead for my mom to wait until we get home so I can simply e-mail her.
She says no in a voice that there is no arguing with.
My hands shake as I dial the numbers. I have to erase everything and start over. Twice. I feel a blush creeping up my face.
The line begins ringing. On the third ring I hang up. 
It hurts to breathe. Oh God. 
She is simply looking at me like I’m being a baby.
My chest tightens and I am gasping for air as tears stream silently down my face.
The tears make me angry. Furious.
I toss the phone on the dashboard of the car. 
She looks at the phone and turns her angry gaze on me.
I dig my fingers into my thighs and focus on the pain to feel something other than abject terror.
I retrieve the phone. I can get air into my lungs now.
Taking a shaky breath I re-dial. It takes me almost a full minute. 
It’s ringing. I swipe at my eyes as if the person on the other end of the line can see me.
I give her a ‘please help’ look and she gives me an encouraging smile.
My throat is still tight and I choke back a sob. 
The line picks up and I plaster on a smile and delve into the conversation. I twirl my hair and fan my heated cheeks and get more annoyed as my accent thickens to near hillbilly. 
I stutter once. I nearly lose my composure entirely and I begin to bite at my nail.
The conversation soon ends and I struggle over whether to say “Goodbye,” “Bye!,” “Have a nice day,” or “See you soon.” I know it really doesn’t matter.
We hang up and I slump back into my worn, slightly fuzzy car seat.
I close my eyes and focus on slowing my racing heart before it pounds out of my chest.
I can feel the heat fading from my cheeks and my throat slowly opens back up.
“You did so well, I don’t know why you freak out like that. You are in college, you’re going to have to make phone calls more often.”
I recline the seat and push out a long breath. 
Embarrassment wells up in me and suddenly I have the urge to cry again.
I bite my lip so hard I almost break skin and the tears dissipate.  
I think about my inadequacy all throughout the day. And when I lay awake at 1AM I am still thinking about it and still angry with myself.
I have to set up a vet appointment tomorrow. 
More than 200,000 people are diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder every year in the United States.
S.A.D. is a chronic mental condition in which social interactions cause irrational anxiety and can last a lifetime.

For people with social anxiety disorder, everyday social interactions cause irrational anxiety, fear, self-consciousness, and embarrassment.
Symptoms may include excess fear of situations in which one may be judged, worry about embarrassment or humiliation, or concern about offending someone.
Talk therapy and antidepressants can help increase confidence and improve ability to interact with others.
Social anxiety is the fear and anxiety of being negatively judged and evaluated by other people.  It is a pervasive disorder and causes anxiety and fear in most all areas of a person’s life. (SAA)


People with social anxiety usually experience significant distress in the following situations:

Being introduced to other people

Being teased or criticized

Being the center of attention

Being watched or observed while doing something

Having to say something in a public or formal setting

Meeting people in authority

Feeling out of place in social situations and not knowing what to say

Embarrassing easily (blushing, shacking, etc.)

Meeting other people’s eyes

Swallowing, talking, or making phone calls if in public


Those of us with Social Anxiety know that our anxiety is irrational. We know that it is strange and that we should be able to do these things like everyone else. We don’t want to be like this. We crave peace and freedom from constant fear while in public. We– I crave normalcy.

**Social Anxiety Fact Sheet: What is Social Anxiety Disorder? Symptoms, Treatment, Prevalence, Medications, Insight, Prognosis. Thomas A. Richards, Ph. D., Psychologist. Social Anxiety Association. web. (2013)




–The light will lead us

*** Photo credit: Marissa Farabee, Flightrisk Photography ® 2016.



It started out a stormy night

She never could put up a fight

Her tears would hit the bathroom floor

He smashed her head against the door

The cops were called, no one cared

She’d run as often as she dared

He’d drag her back and lock her in

Never hit hard enough to break the skin

The girl put up a fence  around her soul

No one could get close enough to melt the cold

A baby girl of only five

Already wanting to end her life

Her best friend came close to breaching the wall

She didn’t come back to school in the fall

The cops found her body during break

It was more than the little girl could possibly take

He made her life a life a living hell

She knew better than to ever tell

He’d sneak into her room late at night

She’d keep the bruises well out of sight

The teachers never said a word

The little girl got used to not being heard

And just like that– their terrible choice

The little girl lost her voice.


—-The light will lead us on

A Cluster of Cells

Life. It seems like it’s a four-letter word for a reason. With all the possible meanings of the word “life,” is it possible that it loses its true meaning in today’s world, or is it perhaps one of those things that remains somewhat undefined?


  1. Some say that life started with the beginning of the world. In the bottom of a pond with a cluster of loose cells known as scum, or with a big bang, or by the hand of an (the) Ultimate Being (aka God.) Life can be defined by science as any thing that has the capacity for growth, functionality, and continual change preceding death. Plants, bacterium, animals, and humans are are on the list of things with “life.”
  2. A life can also be defined as a soul. ie. “10,000 lives were lost.” Is a life an intelligent being capable of rational thinking, reasoning capacity, a range of emotions, or a being capable of discerning right and wrong?
  3. Is life a currency? As in you kill my son, I’ll kill yours. A life for a life; a life for a debt? Is a life a reward (see 60 virgins upon death…)? Is life something that can be owned? I mean morally and ethically, not rationally.
  4. Is life a right? Does everyone deserve to live by some inherent right. Are we as humans from the moment our hearts start beating deserving of “life?”


Now my tale.

For the background, let me paint you a picture of a small town in the Bible Belt, population around 14,000 with most of those being cows. Rolling hills and green pastures with mountains in the background and mom and pop stores everywhere. One high school. No movie theater. Run down farmhouses and misused trailers next to multi-million dollar houses and cattle fields.

The preacher’s son is dating the school junkie, and the pregnancy stories here end with the girl being shunned: like Amish type shunning but meaner. The Pharmacist is a Bible-banging Baptist who is completely pro-life, but he definitely won’t support your unwanted child because he doesn’t believe in handouts… he’s got the only place in town that will carry what you need so desperately after last night’s party got way out of hand. That one small pill that costs $60 that you really can’t not afford. But are you really going to buy it from him? No, because he knows your parents and your friends’ parents and his wife is known to gossip. And even if you didn’t slink away from the counter in degradation, even if you did ask for the morning after pill… would he really give it to you? Probably not, because he doesn’t believe in it.


The story begins during an X-men movie marathon. I get a call on a school night in the AM from my best friend, my sister, my other-half. I know she’s scatterbrained and I know that she often throws caution to the wind. I hear the hysterical sobbing though, and my first thought isn’t that she’s pregnant, but that her guardian has hit her again.

Through muffled sobs I get what she is trying to tell me. She thinks she’s knocked up. The father is definitely not the right guy, and she would never in her right mind want to marry him. She’s not a slut, but she is by far no saint. They used protection, but she tells me that the condom slipped and he didn’t tell her or pull out.*(A.N. In my mind this is a form of rape.)

With fear freezing up my lungs, I quickly go through different scenarios of what could happen to us in the next few months, because even though I didn’t make the mistake I will be dragged through the mud right beside her. She is my best friend, so I would proudly stand next to her, but… if people find out about this there is no way either one of us is getting out of this town alive. The people of this fucked up little place suffer from the Madonna/Whore syndrome in a big way.

We were raised Baptist, and along with the fried chicken, we were dosed with a huge hit of anti-liberal views. Abortion is evil. God will hate you. But within a few seconds of knowing what would happen, I saw no other way. I was ready to… not reevaluate my beliefs per-se, but to disregard them for a short time to get us out of this mess.

We eventually hung up, and all that night I lay sleepless thinking about where we would get the money for an abortion, and how we would plan it. Fake names, cash, and a borrowed car were on my to-do list the next morning. As I picked her up on the way to school I broached the topic of the abortion. She just looked at me a little stunned and quietly exclaimed, “I could never do that. Even if I don’t want it…it’s still an innocent person, and it’s mine.” She knew the repercussions, and I didn’t understand how she could be so naive or stupid. We were in college for shit’s sake with no support system besides ourselves.

She left me alone brooding for most of the rest of the week, and I found myself challenging every single thing I was taught in Sunday School and as a child. I thought about bodily autonomy, and women’s rights and all that stuff and I fell deeper and deeper into questioning my faith and my upbringing and my parents. Everything was literally crumbling apart in my hands like clay.

Two weeks after the phone call she tells me that it was a false alarm and she has her period. I’m relieved of course, but i am also near furious. My whole life has been set on edge and I didn’t even do anything wrong! Nothing is black and white to me anymore, so I fall back on what I’m learning in Biology and Anatomy at school.

Women’s Rights Activists make the point that a woman’s body is her own and she has complete control over it. They say that a fetus is just extra tissue growing in a woman’s womb until birth. At the beginning of the second term we discussed at great length DNA, RNA, m-RNA coding, etc. We learned that we inherit our mitochondrial DNA from our mother, however, we share many more traits with our fathers such as personality and temperament.

I discovered that we are not our mothers. A child before and after birth has its own, very distinct DNA . And if a baby’s DNA is not the same as the mother’s then that must mean that it is a separate being entirely. It is a human being and has its own rights and privileges. One of those rights is the right to a fighting chance.

I have recently come to a few conclusions to my questions.

  1. Life is anything capable of change.
  2. Living things are connected to every other living thing. The butterfly effect shows his quite nicely. And any action has an equal and opposite reaction. Some believe that the soul of the earth is tied to her children (humans, animals, and plants.) I believe that nothing in this world is a singular incident which has no impact on any other are of life. Everything and everyone matters.
  3. Life is often traded, sold, stolen, and ended.
  4. Every person and every animal is deserving of the right to come out of it’s mother’s womb and have a fighting chance at being “alive.” Let the Darwinian view of the ‘survival of the fittest’ work against every living thing that enters into this world, BUT LET IT HAVE A CHANCE.


I stumbled upon this video during my research, and though it is kind of extreme, he makes some really good points (mostly toward the end in my opinion). I will post the original video that he is responding to below.




—the light will lead us on

I watched you all night, you know.

I saw you looking at me too when you thought I wasn’t looking. I reveled in the fact that your eyes were on me, if only for a few brief moments at a time.

I danced for you.

My body writhed in time to the trance music and I felt your gaze slide over my frame and caress me. It was heavenly, almost a touch.

I longed for you.

In the arms of another with your gaze still lingering on me, I craved only you pressed up against me. I wanted only your skin against my skin and your hair running through my fingers.

I waited for you.

I waited for you to make a move all night. I nearly cried when you left with only a backwards look. Your eyes connected with mine and you gave me a small, sad smile then you turned  your back and walked away.

In some ways we are so close.

When you are lonely, I am the first one you call. I am the one you know you can trust with your hurts and your problems. I am the one you don’t mind letting see your late-night-silly-stupid side. I love that side.

I don’t mind.

I don’t mind being woken up by you at one AM or six AM. I just want to hear from you. Your voice reminds me of safety and sex and fire. And it makes no sense, but I wake up every day hoping to hear from you or see you . I die a little when I don’t.

Ten feet away.

Your squad sits nearly within touching distance of mine. As I stand surrounded by my sisters, you are encompassed by your brothers like a general commanding his troops. They stare at you enraptured and so do I. You glance and I glance, and our friends know and they see.

I want you, you want me.

This is a fact. You have said it yourself during our late nights in. Our friends have crossed borders to carry the messages about our lust for one another, about our “secret” looks and our cravings that we tell them of. We could cross the social boundaries. It wouldn’t be that bad. We are both  popular, good-looking, smart, and fun so it would be socially acceptable. Your mom already loves me and so does your best friend, so why haven’t we done this yet?

I know I’m ranting now.

But YOU TURNED AWAY. I don’t understand how you could do that. I needed you so much. I may never see you again after this week, and you just left. God, I miss you so much.

Just please come back.


+The stars burn blue+

Spring Designs

*A Study In Copper* Fleur de lis ($15)
*A Study In Copper* “Are you not worth more than the sparrow?” ($15)
*A Study In Copper* ($40) 3-strand
*Ribbon of Ash* Grey Freshwater Pearl necklace (long) ($40)
*A Study In Copper* ($20) Amethyst and Aquamarine
Crystal and Iolite 2-strand necklace  ($45)
Amethyst, Pearl, Crystal, with Oroboros Toggle clasp  ($40)

The Great Unknown

The Great Unknown

Our most recent designs were inspired by a trip to one of the most exotic, overwhelming, and busy places on this earth: Jaipur, India, pop. +2.3million souls.

One of my most intimate moments with the country was on the car ride through the rural areas surrounding Jaipur. While my car mates were wisely catching up on some sleep, my restless brain would not shut off and I resigned myself to capturing the beauty of the countryside flying past us.

I saw ancient looking temples, their onion domed roofs overrun with vines and topped with ugly monkeys and sloping mountains and forests of evergreens filled the background. Every time the camera would finally focus on the temples, a tree or building would block the lens and the perfect image would be gone forever. I am already forgetting the incredible beauty of what I saw.

There were children bathing in front of brightly painted pink and blue cottages and ramshackle shacks with three-wheeled carts sitting under the shade of a nearby tree. I saw a dog and a little boy eating off of the same dish, boys pushing wooden wheels with sticks in the middle of the road, men and women hacking dried grass out in the heat of the scorched fields, and I saw girls walking home from school separate of the boys in traditional dress and in miniskirts.

There was a separation though, of the children walking the streets. While we were waiting for a herd of cattle to clear the street, a group of women dressed in rich red, orange, and yellow saris passed on the left side of the SUV. On the other side, a group of teenage boys and girls passed wearing Catholic school uniforms. The two groups ignored each other studiously but for one woman wearing red. As the group of women neared us, I readied my camera for a dramatic shot of burdened older women that would be perfect for my paper on sexism in the third world.

What I saw was entirely different than what i expected. The woman closest to the car turned and stared straight at me. She was beautiful. A mirage. A goddess. She was around eighteen or nineteen, and she had the smoothest clay coloured skin I’ve ever seen. A garnet encrusted golden hoop protruded from one nostril, and her hair was darker than squid ink at midnight, smoothed and plaited in a single side-braid. The sunlight reflected in her brown eyes, turning them into liquid gold. Her mouth was turned up in a brilliant smile that revealed perfect teeth, a slight dimple on her right cheek, and full coral lips. She stared a moment longer at me before shyly lifting a corner of her sari up and covering the bottom half of her face. She didn’t stop staring though. Even when the cattle cleared the road and we finally started moving again we still stared. The connection was only broken when the cattle once again converged in the road and blocked our view.

That one moment made my whole visit to India pale in comparison. Nothing was as beautiful as that girl. Nothing made me feel as much as she did. It was a feeling of sacredness and serenity amidst a horrid chaotic world awash with cultural divides and obstacles. But that one girl…


the light will lead us on

The Beginnings

He must have caught me fidgeting next to his sawhorse while he put an edge on the blade he was working with because he suddenly handed me his old pliers with the worn rubber and a length of wire and said, “Here, Little Luv, come make me something pretty.” And I did. A delicate and strange looking cross was the first product of a seven year old’s wild imagination allowed to run loose in the metal dust of an old workshop. Since then Papa has handed me many different pieces of nothing and challenged me to make “something pretty” out of them. And I have. And I love it.


Now, many years later, I have found a purpose and sense of fulfillment in creating these sweet nothings.

Teaching other young women how to create things and seeing they, in return, spark the creativity in others brings great joy in a world full of darkness. In order to continue, however, we have been forced to sell off some of the pieces of our souls that have been given physicality in the form of our art. We have come to find that beauty and pleasure do not come free.


The flame lights the way.