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Letters from the Edge of Tolerance

This is where I document life lived with CPTSD, ADHD, DID, OCD, abandonment trauma, rage, and the long term psychological consequences of instability. Not for sympathy. Not for inspiration. For examination.

I write about trauma the way a mechanic tears down an engine. Piece by piece. What broke. Why it broke. What it still does under stress.

You will find poems that bleed without asking to be saved. Essays that dissect ethical BDSM, power exchange, dominance, consent, and responsibility without romantic illusion. Reflections on betrayal, identity, dissociation, religion, rage, control, and the uncomfortable mathematics of trust.

This is not a healing space. It is an honest one.

I do not frame survival as beautiful. I frame it as necessary.

If you are looking for optimism, look elsewhere.

If you want unfiltered analysis from someone who has lived at the upper edge of tolerance for decades and still functions, read on.

Existence is not always a gift.

Sometimes it is a condition.
1 month ago. Friday, January 2, 2026 at 5:23 PM

You rise in quiet beauty, Moon Lilly, pale and true,
soft light gathered in curves the night itself admires.
Sweet is the air you carry, warm as breath in open fields,
where distance fades and even silence leans toward you.

No shadow dares remain where your glow takes hold.
You shine without effort, unafraid of being seen.
In lives that pass too quickly, you stay with me as a constant,
a softness I can hold onto when the day has taken too much.

I see the way you soften and draw nearer,
how you turn a simple moment into something I remember.
You are what my restless heart reaches for without thinking,
what my hands look for when I need to feel real again.

Kindness lives in you without performance.
Your sweetness is not naive, it is brave.
And I love that you still choose it,
even when the world has given you reasons not to.

Moon Lilly, hear me when I say your name.
It is not just a word, it is a feeling in my chest.
You answer in the little ways,
a look, a touch, the quiet way you stay close.

You are delicate without being breakable,
abundant without needing to prove anything.
Tender, yes, but strong enough
to steady me when I start to drift.

White as moonlight on still water,
beautiful in the way that makes me pause
and breathe a little slower,
like I am safe for a second.

Precious Moon Lilly, you bring back parts of me
I thought I had lost to time and trouble.
Even when the seas turn rough beneath our feet,
I want you beside me, not ahead, not behind.

You honor me, and I do not take it lightly.
I see you. I want you. I keep you close.

Pale.
White.
And beautiful.

O' my sweet Moon Lilly.


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