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The Eccentric Vox


Before the day swallows the moment, before the thought slips away — here’s what’s been sitting with me. Some of these are quiet revelations, some are rants in disguise, and some are just small truths trying to stretch their legs. Together, they live somewhere between poetry and confession, laughter and ache — proof that being human rarely fits in neat sentences, but I’ll say it anyway.


This is where the personal meets the universal — where stories, reflections, and quiet rebellions find their shape. Some pieces ache. Some laugh. Some simply breathe. Together, they trace what it means to be human: flawed, tender, unfiltered, still learning.


Scroll, wander, linger...



Co-Authored
we tolerate their whims. we buy the tickets and line the streets and press our faces to the glass of their lives like children outside a bakery. we argue about them at dinner tables. we vote for them, pray for them, forgive them things we would not ...
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Close-up of matte athletic fabric with a stitched seam, highlighting the texture and construction of women’s sports uniforms.
Skin.
Women’s sports were never meant to be enough on their own. Not the speed. Not the strength. Not the discipline carved into muscle and breath. From the beginning, there was a quiet addendum stitched into every uniform: Be impressive, but also be plea...
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A single figure walking away from camera on an empty road/path that stretches to the horizon. The person should be small in the frame, dwarfed by the landscape. This captures "kept walking" and the solitary nature of metabolized grief. Black and white or
Spent
I have lost so much in my life and kept walking. Not because I'm strong. Not because I'm resilient. Not because I have some special capacity for endurance that other people lack. But because stopping—really stopping, the way grief is supposed to mak...
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Close-up of glowing orange embers rising against a dark night background, symbolizing fire, burning traditions, and the haunting atmosphere of Bonfire Night and Guy Fawkes effigy rituals.
November: How I learned that humans can make cruelty feel like community.
I was seven, maybe eight, when I understood that people will do anything if you call it tradition. At the end of each year, they would come with their old clothes and their straw. They would stuff the sleeves until arms emerged. They would shape a h...
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Misty path through forest in muted earth tones representing healing journey trauma recovery and finding clarity after emotional abuse
When Healing Stopped Performing
Healing learned how to pose for the camera. The kind with sage bundles and journal spreads, affirmations written in perfect script, morning routines that start at 5 AM with gratitude and green smoothies. It's healing as aesthetic. Healing as brand. ...
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Back view of person in silhouette standing at bridge railing looking toward suspension bridge in misty golden light at dawn - contemplative morning scene representing mental health awareness and suicide prevention
The Mathematics of Maybe: What We Owe Each Other at the Edge
The mathematics of staying alive gets harder in fog. I've learned this from bridges, from gray mornings, from the way certain people stand at railings—adding up pain, adding up reasons to stay, subtracting reasons it hurts to exist, subtracting hope...
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A woman standing in heavy rain with soaked hair and a tired, solemn expression. She appears calm but emotionally exhausted as water streams down her face. Dark storm clouds and blurred trees create a moody, somber atmosphere.
I Don't Want To Be A Woman: A blunt, unfiltered confession about the unbearable weight of expectations—and the self you lose beneath them
I don’t know when it happened—when I stopped thinking of myself as a “woman” and started thinking of myself as just me. A person. A self. A soul trying to hold its edges against a world that keeps reaching for them. Maybe the truth is this: I never ...
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A dimly lit room with a single wooden door slightly open, warm light spilling through the crack into the darkness — symbolizing healing, self-discovery, and opening the door within yourself.
I Will Carry You: Learning to mother the self no one else knew how to hold.
There is a quiet kind of waiting that children learn when love arrives conditionally. You stand at doors—not knocking, because that would be demanding, but present enough to be noticed if anyone cared to look. You learn to make yourself into a praye...
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Silhouette of father and daughter, sunlight casting long shadows across a floor, symbolizing broken promises and the weight of unspoken love.
For You, He Said
My father's biggest lie was never spoken with malice. It arrived soft, wrapped in the kind of sentiment that makes grown men's eyes glisten. I'm doing all of this for you. At twelve, I swallowed it whole—pupils blooming into cartoon hearts, my smile...
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Conceptual digital artwork showing two facing human silhouettes against a neutral background—one male figure filled with black mathematical symbols and equations, the other female figure painted with vivid brushstrokes in orange, red, and yellow—symbolizi
The Mathematics of Marriage
Marriage has a definition. You can look it up. Partnership, they say. Union. The legal and spiritual binding of two lives into one shared enterprise. Not much guesswork required. And yet. The Equation That Never Balances Here is the man at his desk,...
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A lone wolf standing at the forest’s edge as morning light filters through the mist, symbolizing independence and trusting your instincts.
Don’t Take Advice From Sheep When You’re a Wolf: On Recognizing Your Own Nature
There's a moment that comes to everyone who dares to live differently—a moment when you realize that the guidance you've been following was never meant for someone like you. You've been sitting in circles, nodding along, absorbing the wisdom of peop...
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Conceptual art photograph of a mannequin seated alone at a minimalist dining table under warm gallery lighting, wearing a sculptural bubble-textured dress and a lampshade hat. The surreal scene symbolizes exclusion, consumption, and fashion as art—reflect
Not Every Table Is Serving Food
Let's talk about the seats we demand and the tables we don't understand. We've become so focused on inclusion that we've forgotten to ask what we're being included in. We scream for representation without considering whether the thing we want to be ...
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Moody, cinematic photo showing a soldier’s silhouette reflected in a rain puddle, with the reflection tinted red to symbolize the unseen blood, trauma, and ghosts of war beneath the surface.
"Thank You For Your Service" is Not Enough
Stop Crying at the Airport Stop turning reunions into propaganda. Stop framing war as a love story with a happy ending—flags waving, babies lifted high, orchestral music swelling in the background like this is a movie and not the aftermath of organi...
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A woman stands in a dimly lit kitchen beside a sink, turning toward the light with a wary, distant expression. Her face shows quiet unease rather than fear, mirroring the emotional distance and loneliness explored in “The Quiet Violence of Living Beside a
The Quiet Violence of Living Beside a Stranger
A haunting reflection on love, safety, and the silent violence of living beside someone your body never learned to call home. --- There's a phenomenon making its rounds on social media, presented as comedy, packaged as relatable content: women who s...
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Doors That Close Before We Reach Them. A half-open wooden door with sunlight spilling through and an empty chair and a pair of shoes near a window.
Doors That Close Before We Reach Them
Sometimes grief isn’t about what we lost, but what was never ours to begin with. There are moments that arrive not as themselves, but as excavations—each layer revealing something deeper, more ancient, more quietly devastating than the last. It beg...
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