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Writer. Actor. Poet. Human. Contact:

An Emotional Retrospection

I feel the need to crack open,
wide open,
and allow the cacophony of
bullshit emotions inside of me to leak like oil onto the sidewalk.

It’s hard to keep them stuffed in there,
each in a separate compartment, you know?

How do you tuck away the liquid malleability of anger, joy, shame, despair…?
Each sentiment oozing into the other.
Never quite respecting each’s own iridescence, and
none of them ever really acquiescing.
Every one of them pressing to the front, flooding into each other as if
one were more important to acknowledge instead of the others.

Do you have…


I get that the phrase “Can we normalize…” is in our culture right now, but can we collectively UN-normalize saying “You’ll find someone. I just know it,” and every iteration thereafter, to your single friends?

I get you’re trying to be kind. That you’re attempting to instill confidence in a situation that can be uncomfortable. Maybe your friend is complaining about a terrible date, or how awful dating apps are, or maybe they’re going through a difficult breakup. No matter the situation, stop saying, “You’re going to find someone.”

Because You. Don’t. Know.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m fed…

A disharmonious wish

Yearning for connection in the most disconnected of times, we weave in and out of social media narratives like a clever snake — always in line with the path of others before it. Will one platform provide relief from the soul-quenching thirst of disharmony within our lives?

Will one outdo the likes and comments of another, fulfilling an empty promise of hope we have that we’re connecting and sharing with another individual across the span of an electrical aisle?

In fairness, we did this to ourselves. Hoping that
in the creation of a new kind of connection we could

The Color To It All

I’ve always felt like an outsider in this world full of “normal” people with “regular” brains. I’ve felt like some cartoon version of a human living a fraudulent life, attempting to fit in when all I do is fit out.

But the discovery of a word, of a community I long to explore, has opened my eyes to the invaluableness I offer this world. Neurodiversity.

I have a neurodivergent brain living in a world that normal people have created with thick lines and boxes and rules made to keep those of us who think differently from feeling like we belong…

Are you used to shutting down the bright pieces of yourself in order to survive? What would it feel like to finally shed that skin and release all of the shame back into the wild to dissipate into the Universe? To turn it into something worthwhile, something productive and filled with joy?

Perhaps the shame is also to protect you from failure. Like a veil of secrecy. If you don’t start, if you never try, then you’ll never fail. But that’s wrong solely on principle. You fail immediately by not trying, by not starting. You don’t know what the outcome…

It’s still a life well-lived

I have an atypical brain.

I don’t think in linear ways. Instead, my brain navigates spiderwebs of thoughts, some linked together, some on the very outer edges of my mind, and some that are the flies that get caught in my net.

It’s hard to have an atypical brain but I’ve learned to see my differences as gifts to offer the world as opposed to things that should be shunned and shamed away because I am different. …

Not a “how to”

I’m never quite sure how much pain to let people in on. As if it were to be some secret known only to me. My pain, however great in the moment, doesn’t ever feel “enough” to be shared.

But it is.

I’ve been in pain every day of my life since I was fifteen. For twenty years I haven’t known a single day without it. What pierces my consciousness on occasion is that I never will. Things will never be better nor will they magically cease to exist. …

Violence in prose

Immersed in a cornucopia of Lisa Frank daydreams, of bright colors and whimsy, my young life was a tapestry of girly colors, pink and purple sparkles.

I can pinpoint the moments, not entirely precise, when I felt the ripping at the seams of my girlhood, my femininity, to be separated for decades to come.

It started with the flirtation of an older man.

The tender teenage year of 16 where young people want to be heard, to be seen, in my case, by the opposite sex, so when that failed to happen with boys of my same tender-hearted age, the…

My Love Affair With Grocery Shopping

I love grocery shopping. I love weaving through the aisles looking at all the new items and the items that I may not have noticed before. I can spend an hour or more, if I have the time, perusing various aisles looking at nothing and everything.

Navigating a grocery store when you have food allergies poses a specific challenge, as you need to read labels vigorously if you find something you may want to try that looks even remotely interesting. It’s often a letdown when I scan the ingredients and instantly find I can’t eat it, but it does point…

The Intimacy of Our Bathroom

There were four of us under one, small roof — three-bedroom, one-bathroom. Four people 5'8" and over, not to exceed 6'3". We were toppling over each other in that house. The rooms were all small, but we didn’t know anything else, so it seemed like the world for us. At least, it did to me.

I’m not sure how we managed four people under one roof with one bathroom, but we did. Especially with two of those people being only a year and a half apart and when the teenage years hit and parents who both left for work the…

Beth Nintzel

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