Photo by Alex Lvrs on Unsplash

You’ve carried me across black sand beaches and timeworn glaciers.

You are strong and yet delicate.

You cast a shadow that cannot be ignored.

You’ve held the weight of all the emotions I couldn’t bear to feel.

You grow and shrink as you need to.

You unapologetically bear scars and stretch marks and cellulite.

Your eyes are sunflowers.

You are speckled and freckled.

You withheld breath until I learned to rest.

You are capable of feeling earth-shattering pleasure and pain.

You wear the ink so well.

You are the map to my soul.



Photo by Stillness InMotion on Unsplash
  1. Taking the less comfortable chair.
  2. A text message left on read.
  3. You died before I could tell you about the electricity in the air at Stonehenge.
  4. We could never figure out how we knew each other.
  5. Leaving Madrid without saying goodbye.
  6. Caring more about you than you did about me.
  7. Holding my neck to one side upon impact.
  8. He held my hand and my knees were locked and it all descended into tunnel vision.
  9. Forgetting her mask in the car.
  10. The look in her eyes at the pier.
  11. Staring too long at the bloodstain.
  12. The book of poems I loaned you.
  13. Bringing him up at dinner.
  14. Writing off the symptoms.
  15. Hating the sin and loving the sinner.
  16. Breaking it off before leaving for Reykjavík.
  17. Cussing her out in the parking lot.
  18. Waiting too long to try again.



Kelsie McWilliams

Kelsie McWilliams


she/her. A writer and editor who loves dogs. Exvangelical. I read and write about trauma of all varieties because there is hope and healing in this world.