BROKEN PSYLLENS was born during a season of release.

A season of healin'.
A season of surrender.

What began as private reflections slowly became a home. A place built from prayer, poem, grief, wonder, questions, revelations, and the quiet work of returnin' to myself. For a long time, survival required so much of my attention that I forgot who I was beneath it. This space is, in many ways, a record of God leadin' me out of the wilderness and back to myself. And because I know what it feels like to search for safe places, I want this to be one.

Not a place of performance.
Not a place that demands perfection.
Not a place where anyone has to pretend.

Just a place where we can be present.

A place where we can sit with what is true.

A place where poetry, reflection, faith, and storytellin' can remind us that healin' is possible, that God is always near, and that what is broken is still worthy of bein' held gently.

If you've found your way here, welcome.

Welcome home. 🦋

TO THE LITTLE GIRL IN YOU

You probably didn't know you were bein' shaped. You probably thought you were just watchin' movies with your mama. Just another afternoon. Just another story. But somewhere between those women and those words, somethin' settled inside of you.

You watched women survive. You watched women grieve. You watched women endure. You watched women remember themselves.

Long before you understood poetry, you were already surrounded by it. It lived in the hush of Southern summers and the voices that filled the room. It lived in the stories your mother placed before you. In the women of The Color Purple. In Beloved. In For Colored Girls. In Their Eyes Were Watching God. In the shadows and secrets of Eve's Bayou.

You didn't know it then, but you were learnin' that stories could carry generations. That stories could hold wounds. That stories could hold God.

You were learnin' that womanhood was both beautiful and complicated. That survival had a sound. That memory had a language.

And maybe that's why you've always written the way you do. Because before there were poems, there were stories. Before there was BROKEN PSYLLENS, there was a little Louisiana Creole girl watchin' and listenin'. Listenin' to the women who came before her, carried before her. Listenin' to the women around her. Listenin' to the women she would one day become. 

ABOUT HER

I've been writin' for as long as I can remember.

Long before my silence was broken, before BROKEN PSYLLENS had a name, there were notebooks, scraps of paper, journal entries, poems tucked into drawers, and thoughts I never intended for anyone else to read. I wrote my first poem around the age of nine and, in many ways, I've been writin' the same story ever since, what it means to be human, what it means to heal, and what it means when God finds you in the middle of it all.

I've never been someone who sought attention. Truthfully, I've always felt safest in the hidden places. Over the course of my life, both in childhood and adulthood, visibility has been a gift and a curse. There were seasons when bein' seen felt beautiful, and others when it felt heavy. So I learned to retreat into quiet places. 

Into observation.
Into reflection.
Into writin'.

It was there that I met myself. And it was there that God continued to meet me.

Years later, you would find pieces of yourself in the words of Maya Angelou, Warsan Shire, and Ntozake Shange. You would hear echoes of truth in the voice of Nina Simone. You would find beauty, vulnerability, and honesty in artists like Summer Walker, Billie Eilish, and Lana Del Rey. Not because you wanted to become them. But because they reminded you that truth has many voices.

And still, through all of it, you remained yourself.

A daughter.
A dreamer.
A witness. 

A little Louisiana Creole girl who grew up lovin' stories enough to tell her own.

And look at you now.

Still watchin'.
Still listenin'.
Still writin'. 

with love,

Psyllens 🦋