Author: poeaxtry_

  • The Anatomy of an Intrusion

    The Anatomy of an Intrusion


    Best For:

    Transgender individuals, gender nonconformists, human rights advocates, LGBT allied individuals, and anyone else who wishes to participate in a better future for all.


    Why Medical History Isn’t Small Talk

    What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.

    “So, have you had the surgery?”

    It’s usually delivered after the individual asking beats around the bush and stumbles over asking me if I mind answering a “personal” question. The “personal” question is then delivered with a tilted head and a voice that has dropped an octave. Painted as if the sheer performative “sensitivity” of the speaker makes the question any less of a violation. For many in the transgender community, and for me as a trans man, this isn’t just an awkward social hurdle; it’s an interrogation of my personhood.

    It also goes without saying the question “have you had the surgery” is formed from a person who lacks general knowledge of transgender related medical care. The surgery? Which one? Positioning it like there’s only one type shows your lack of knowledge, as much as it shows your ignorance… I fear.

    My scars are not a map for your curiosity; they are the private archives of my survival.

    When people ask about my genitalia… people who are not my partner, my doctor, or someone I would have planned on inviting into my bed it feels nasty. I know they are not asking to “understand” me. They are asking to categorize me based on a biological blueprint that I have spent my life navigating, reclaiming, and, in many ways, protecting.


    The Dehumanization of the “Biological Curiosity”

    When a stranger, coworker, or a casual acquaintance asks about my body, they are effectively stripping away my identity as a man and as a human being. They are attempting to begin replacing it with a specimen. It reduces a complex human experience to a surgical checklist. And that checklist holds no weight when discussing gender identity which is not the same as one’s biological sex.

    This line of questioning assumes that my validity as a man is contingent upon a specific set of medical results or that gender and sex are inherently the same. It implies that until I check a certain box, I am “incomplete” or “in-process.” This is not just insensitive; it is damaging.

    When you ask about “the surgery,” you aren’t looking for the human, you’re looking for the ghost of who you think we used to be.

    It reinforces the idea that trans bodies are public property, open for debate and inspection, rather than sacred, private spaces. Even worse it implies trans individuals have to have medical transitions to be valid. All of which are simply untrue and dangerous rhetorics to convey.


    The Weight of the “Why”

    Why is this question so traumatic? Well it carries the weight of every systemic threat trans people face. When you demand to know what is under my clothes, you are engaging in a form of soft violence. Even if you feel the way you asked used politely constructed strings of words the connotation behind the words is still equivalent.

    • Breach of Consent: In any other context, asking a stranger about their genitals would be recognized as sexual harassment. Being trans does not waive my right to bodily privacy.
    • Inherently Dangerous: Outing a trans person’s medical status in the wrong setting can lead to physical violence. By asking, you are forcing me to weigh my safety against your curiosity and expecting me to trust you at the same time you’re proving you’re not a place of safety for me.
    • Triggers Dysphoria: For many, the road to bodily autonomy is paved with significant emotional and physical pain. Forcing someone to dwell on parts of themselves they may struggle with is cruel. As is announcing to them you were and have already been thinking about the private parts they have.
    • Erases Personal Agency: My transition is a private piece of poetry. I am writing for myself, not a promo flyer for public consumption.

    Let’s Talk it Over

    Why do you think, as humans, we typically act as though we are entitled to whatever it is we seek?

    What is your experience with being asked private questions by people who are just curious?

    Why is it so hard to see the danger behind this line of questioning and others like it?

    Feel free to share your thoughts and hot takes in the comments. I’m excited to see what everyone has to add. Transgender, non binary, and cisgender individuals are all welcome to provide feedback.


    The Boundary of Intimacy

    There is a massive distinction between curiosity and entitlement. If we are not in a position where our bodies are going to interact, your need to know about my “plumbing” is irrelevant. True allyship doesn’t look like a clinical audit; it looks like respecting the boundaries I’ve set around my own skin.

    I am like my poetry a self-published soul; I don’t owe anyone a free preview of my most private chapters.

    My body is not a “Transgender 101” deep dive for your casual education. It is my home. And just like any home, I choose who gets to see the floor plan. No transgender individual is required to be your walking encyclopedia on all things gender nonconforming. If you want to be an ally or advocate it should start inside and with self education not imposed curiosity as a floor plan for support.


    In Other Words

    The next time you feel the urge to ask a trans person about their surgery or their anatomy, ask yourself: What will I do with this information? If the answer is anything other than “provide medical care” or “engage in a consensual intimate act,” keep the question to yourself. My manhood is not found in a hospital wing or a surgical recovery room. My gender identity is found in my words, my art, and the life I lead out in the open.


    Before You Leave

    Consider sharing this with anyone you think has a lesson to learn about asking private questions. Or even other transgender or gender nonconforming persons so they can use it as a resource to send those who ask them lines of questions they aren’t entitled to be asking.


  • A Trans Man’s Memoir:  Haze, Haste, and Happy Days

    A Trans Man’s Memoir: Haze, Haste, and Happy Days


    Best For:

    Readers of creative writing, lgbtq+ advocates who want to read first hand experiences, transgender and gender nonconforming individuals seeking acceptance, and writers of autobiographies seeking inspiration.

    Axton’s mom early 20s white t and long brown hair puppy kidding axtons baby face
    Mom & Axton circa 1992

    The First Sentence of My Life:

    I used to know the first word I spoke, as well as the first sentence I uttered to the Earth I didn’t yet know. Once upon a time I had a baby book…

    My Baby Book:

    I often wonder where I misplaced it. It was full of pictures, first experiences, and other tidbits. If I ever found it, I’d make my autobiography’s first line the same as the first line I spoke. But since its current location is unknown, I’ll have to choose another line to enter with in: haze, haste, and happy days.

    My Mind:

    For a transgender man, diagnosed with ADHD in elementary school, and what appears to be a liberal sized scoop of autism. I do see some impossibility in picking one sentence to begin my autobiography with.

    Life for me started in fragments I found while piecing together my identity.
    Shedding a lot of skin that no longer fit along the way.

    Axton

    The Beginning:

    To make a long story short when I was barely two years old, my mom and sperm donor divorced. Mom took me and we left Virginia Beach to move back to Warwood, West Virginia. Where we lived with my great-grandmother.

    For awhile I spoke fluent Polish. I was about ten when Butchie, my great grandmother, had multiple strokes overnight. I was the one who woke to her in need of help, she went to the nursing home after that incident put her in a wheelchair. Butchie had lived in the mobile home with us and my step-dad for a few years by then.

    The poster child for pick a struggle.

    – Axton

    The Summary

    To sum up my formative years, domestic abuse, toxicity, and drug use make up as many memories as the good things I can think of. Along with things like abandonment issues, sexual assault, and child abuse at the hands of my stepmom.

    After my mom left Todd, I basically grew up in a single-parent, low-income apartment, under the poverty line. I had my first hit of nicotine by the time I had spent a decade here, followed by my first Vicodin within the next year.

    Dad, Mom, and Me. In 2004. Bridge Street Middle School 6th grade Family Night
    BSMS Middle School Parent Day 6th grade.

    Just a Little Peek at my Pieces:

    Poetry, Rocks & Minerals, Tarot & Pendulum Readings, Spirituality, Nature, Spell work, BPD, ADHD, Depression, Grief, THC, Nicotine, Transgender Female to Male, Multiple Coming Out Stories, Camping, Animal Lover, Advocate, Tree-Hugger, Sky Watcher, Waterfall Chaser, Cat Dad, Older Brother, Healthcare Worker, Outside, Summertime, Horror, Flowing Stream, and Wanderlust.

    A Few Tidbits of Me I Found Along My Way.

    -Axton

    I am a poster child for pick a struggle as a queer, transgender, neurodivergent, poor, metal health and personality disorder diagnosed individual, and advocate. Welcome to my slow burning opioid use, at Appalachia’s edge.


    A Line to Start My Memior.

    My story is not a uniform line from point A to B. I wasn’t given a map with a layout of how to exist in liner fashion. My life is not neat and uniform.

    • A series of evolving identity
    • surviving layered mental health symptoms
    • emotional contrasts of living in only black and white through BPD
    • grief
    • abandonment issues
    • An inner light shining through

    The Burden

    The line burdened with starting my life’s memoir has to be layered, loud, dramatic, and holding at least a bit of light. It needs to feel like me, so readers see it the scope of the roller coaster I call life.

    Axton has his tongue out peace sign up with White and black flat billed hat forward facing and a printed shoe print on hat
    Roughly 18 2009-2010

    Autobiography Opening Lines:

    I have a four different themed options I wrote for opening lines. Each one represents different pieces of me stuck together artistically. You’ll find creativity, nature, spirituality, neurodiversity, and identity layered hypothetical autobiography first lines.

    First impressions are important, or so they say. I think?

    The truth seeker:

    When rockhounding one must pick up many stones and crystals before finding a keeper. The same can be stated when searching for fragments of identity.

    The Neurodivergent Reality:

    I shuffle my deck. Tap each card with finger three times as I shuffle my fate. Cards that never stop moving, patterns I latch onto, images swim and pulse at the edges of my vision, my attention bouncing between shuffled cards and burning frankincense. Then I feel the card that speaks to me, let’s turn it over and see.

    The Truth of Survival:

    I climb up a sloppy muddy slope, boots pressing into the earth, with a squelch. Tree roots jutting from the hillside towards my face sometimes brush my arms. Every scrape a reminder that I am moving forward. Step by step, until the ridge opens and the sky spills across the horizon.

    The High School Ghost:

    I write, erase, and trace the feelings of my words until the rhythm fits. Pen, smooth, sleek, gilding across notebook paper. I drift the hallways, a body moving without claiming space, a chemical I feel hum under my skin, a numbness I used to pay to feel. Shadows of my words cling to everything inside of me and I leave behind a life that was not for me, piece by piece.

    Kelsey black curly hair red velvet dress and Axton brown hair and suit selfie in front of the trees
    Engagement Photoshoot 2024

    Hey before you go!

    What Opening Statement?

    I want to know the epic first line of your story. Not the one you tell at job interviews but the one you layer to put together with little pieces of you in the seams.

    Comment below with your opening lines. Let us make this thread a collection of shared creativity.

    Do you want to help me?

    I cannot pick my opening line. I equally like them all for different reasons.

    If you had one stick out to you more than the rest for love, hate, or even cringe let me know in the comments.

    I love to hear from you creative individuals, make connections, and create.


    Community Collaboration?!

    If you ever want to collaborate on a duo or small group project especially those advocacy or community based.

    If you would like to have a work of art or literature written by any individual who’s a member of a minority.

    If you want to volunteer or pitch minority community based projects.

    If you want to trade or barter digital collections or physical items.

    If you have any Questions. Comments. Concerns.

    Get a Free Digital Collection for Your Honest Review


  • Three Simple Grounding Practices That Actually Work for Me

    Three Simple Grounding Practices That Actually Work for Me


    Best for:

    Those interested in grounding techniques or inspiration, creative writing enthusiasts, lover of indie writen works, or creative and community blog authors.

    What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

    Typical Things Others Cannot Live Without:

    When discussing material items, objects, or things we can’t live without a lot of things that aren’t necessities come to the forefront. People will name technological devices: phones, televisions, game systems, and other gadgets that are not even remotely close to something they actually need.

    Then they go on to list the person they are intimate with. This isn’t cute and is a very good way to show you’re not as emotionally mature as you think you are. Please unpack that and see how manipulative and untrue it is to insist you can’t continue living without another person. The three objects I would put on the list of things I can’t live without, would not be the expected modern, impressive, and expensive.

    My truth is much more minimal and simple. Survival, for me, is not about convenience or unrealistic intimacy. It is about self-regulation, imagination, and my favorite way me time is served.

    I chose my list of top three things carefully. I aimed to pick things that keep me steady when the world gets loud, educate me, ground me, entertain me, and fuel the fire in my soul. Obviously if you know me you would already assume that these are not luxury items, some aren’t even the typical thing you would consider an item.


    Three Things I Cannot Live Without:

    These are my three most reliable grounding practices for mental health.

    • My dog
    • A good book
    • Access to nature

    These all add their own different layer of how I function, create, escape, and/or stay mentally intact.


    My Dog as an Emotional Anchor: Unconditional Love and Grounding –

    Luna my dog, is not just my companion. She is a part of the structure that holds me together. She is loyal without fail or ulterior motives. She is familiar to me in a way that most people don’t get to experience. Luna knows how I feel and what I am saying without even sharing a language with me. She is rhythm and routine; her schedule helps me keep to mine through the rest of my day.

    She wakes up at the same time as me, she is always the little spoon, kisses my tears away, and never complains when I want to take her to a trail or a few. She gives me purpose, she needs me to feed her, walk her, and give her attention. That rhythm pulls me into motion on days when depression would prefer I stay still.

    There is something stabilizing about unconditional love that does not shift based on my perfection, what I say, or how I look. She does not care if I succeed in capitalistic hell, who gets my vote, or where I stand politically. She cares only that I am here and so is she.

    Luna in the snow wearing her blue tshirt and collar with yellow and blue leash
    Luna BABYYY!

    I do have an official Emotional Support Animal letter from my psychiatrist for Luna. That documentation protects housing access under fair housing guidelines. It ensures I cannot be denied a lease because of her. I do want to note that an emotional support animal and service dogs are separate categories with different legal protections, and they are not interchangeable. It is against the law and unethical to present a dog as a service animal, without it being true. Actions like this make it harder for individuals who have service animals to have access to the places they go without hassle.

    Having a dog around is physically and emotionally grounding. The weight of her leaning against my leg. The sound of her breathing. The feel of her cold nose pressing against my skin when she decides to be like Velcro to me. The familiarity of presence in every room.

    In a world that feels transactional most of the time, she is steady. That steadiness, emotional clarity, and connection keeps me functioning through daily life in a capitalistic hellscape.


    A Book: Classic Escapism & Mental Expansion –

    A good book is not a typical form of passive entertainment. Books are a practical way to transport yourself through eras of time no matter if they are past or futuristic landscapes. You can pick up a book and travel anywhere on any planet. Inside a book you can be whomever you want to be.

    Books contain:

    When I say a good book, I mean something worthy of my time and effort.

    • Pages.
    • Ink.
    • Weight.
    • The smell of paper.
    • The subtle sound of turning a page.

    That tactile experience matters sometimes. I do read digital books too, usually reading those on the go and the physical copies inside the comfort of my house. Adding the physicality into it makes it more worth it. It slows my nervous system down in a way I just can’t seem to find scrolling a light up screen.

    Black cover gold writing BLACK AF HISTORY the book
    A great booktok order.

    Books Provide:

    Books give me at least three things of importance in one swift action:

    • escape
    • entertainment and/or education
    • expansion

    Sometimes I just want to disappear into fiction, to inhabit someone else’s mind and leave my own troubles or sorrows behind for just a little bit. Then there are the times I wish to learn, history, how-to-do’s, cultural studies, deeper psychology, or poetry that challenges my thinking. When I can find something both educational and entertaining at the same time I tend to read it at least once more.

    Books Teach:

    Reading can also be used to sharpen one’s own writing. You cannot build voice in isolation. You absorb cadence, structure, risks other writers take, ideas of your own sparked by another, or even examples of what you don’t want to do. A good book is mentorship without being glued to a classroom.

    A Book is History:

    There is nostalgia in it for me also. Reading feels like a quiet act of protest, something humans have that can transport you throughout history. Reading is both grounding for me and a connection to all the people who have lived this life before. It predates feeds, updates, notifications, and doom-scrolling. Reminding me that a good thing to read has always been how humans survive chaos, boredom, loneliness, or even emotional pain.

    If the world shut down tomorrow, I would still need pages to turn, and I would still have things to learn.


    Pause Here:

    When was the last time a tactile item, actually calmed your emotional state?

    What do you think causes this item to help you in the same ways a book can help me?

    What did it provide you with? Was this a new experience?

    Think about that while you continue to further read.


    Nature – a Grounding Practice: Solitude & Reset-

    Nature is not just a way to create aesthetic content for me. It is recalibration. A break from society I’ve earned.

    Being with the things in nature:

    • trees
    • soil
    • running water
    • open skies
    • bees
    • birds
    • insects
    • wildflowers

    Being out there in nature just existing is the best reset switch I could find. At least, that’s what works for me. When I need space where nothing is demanding performance, if I am feeling overwhelmed, or even if everything is fine and when I just have free time.

    No Interruptions:

    Out there, I can walk without being perceived or judged. I can think without interruption or interference. I can be alone, or with the people I choose. All these distinctions matter to the peace nature provides. Choosing carefully who you share your escapes with feels much better than any forced proximity.

    Research Backed:

    There is also proven research on nature exposure and its effects on lowering stress hormones and supporting nervous system regulation. I do not need a study to know it works, but the research data still exists for those who need to see the proof. When your breathing deepens and your perspective widens you will see the proof without reading anything.

    Healthy Reminder:

    Nature reminds me that not everything is a race. Seasons change without my asking what anyone thinks. Leaves change and fall without debate. The ground does not argue with me or you about anything.

    Reset:

    When I chose to return home from time outside, I am much more clear than I was before leaving. I am less reactive and much more intentional in all I do.

    Without access to my personal form of church in the heart of our natural world, a pressure I can’t ignore begins to build inside me. With it, I can function, create, and respond instead of combust.

    Hayden Falls Flowing in Dublin, Ohio roughly 32 ft high.
    Hayden falls Columbus, Ohio.

    Three Things I Need

    My dog keeps me steady in unconditional love.

    A good book keeps me steady in my head.

    Nature keeps me steady in a more all encompassing manner.

    These are not flashy answers. They are foundational ones.

    Grounding, imagination, and space. That is the authentic human side of how I choose to lighten my load in a culture that rewards constant production, noise, and perfection.

    Sometimes we find it is true the most radical self-care for mental health is simply returning to what feels important and real to your soul.


    Sharing This With Someone Who Needs Grounding Support:

    If you are close to a person who is navigating mental health challenges, creative burnout, introvert overwhelm, perfectionism, or living with an intense pressure building inside of them, consider sharing this with them, in support of their own personal growth towards a more sustainable form of self-care.

    Send it to your friend who forgets to rest.

    The creative who gets lost in doom-scrolling and rarely unplugs.

    The avid animal lover who understands a pet’s silent loyalty.

    The word wizards who think they need permission to pause productivity.

    You may find that survival is not about needing more. It is about finding and maintaining the few things that keep you whole.


    Before you Leave

    If you like what you’re reading here and want to read more or stay in the loop add your email at the bottom of the page and click submit.

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    10% off all physical and 20% off digital items. These are across all of my online store fronts and they are for subscribers to use with every purchase they want to make… FOREVER! As well as keeping you in the know about the topics you want sent directly to you and the frequency at which you get them sent. Thank you for your continued support and for following me through creativity.


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  • The U.S, Citizen Struggle.  Poverty, Addiction, and Pain: The American Dream

    The U.S, Citizen Struggle. Poverty, Addiction, and Pain: The American Dream


    Best For:

    Politically open-minded individuals, creative political writing enthusiasts, socialists, wishful reformists, and dreamers of a future that is better.

    What experiences in life helped you grow the most?

    Poverty Taught Me: Values: Gratefulness, & Blessings:

    Growing up in the midst a poverty engulfed West Virginia small-town, will prove itself to be much worse than I originally expected . Life in a small town U.S. city meant chasing stability like it was something alive and breathing, almost tangible if I ran fast enough.

    Uncertainty:

    Every day brought an air of uncertainty about dinner even breakfast an lunch if I was home from school that day, electricity, and basic needs. Experiencing poverty firsthand and reshaping forever how I understand the American Dream today it is not just material wealth, but the ability to rise despite scarcity.

    Gratitude:

    Watching my single mom squeeze hope out of empty spaces taught me that struggle changes you, not by breaking you, but by teaching your heart how wide it can open even when there is nothing to give. Poverty taught me not to fear lack but to respect effort. It taught me to recognize abundance when it arrives without needing to hold on too tightly. With this lesson embedded in my bones, I learned gratitude as a daily practice, a way of seeing the world that turns what is available into something generous, meaningful, and enough.


    Resilience Shaped by Addiction

    Addiction pulled at me in during youth with promises of an opioid fueled escape. It whispered that pain could be numbed, quieted, pushed out of sight. I fought that voice with everything I had, losing myself to it before finding the strength to push back. Facing addiction as a teen and young adult was not an event but a long journey through my own shadows, and a constant reckoning with why I wanted to hurt myself and how I could instead learn to heal.

    Overcoming:

    Overcoming addiction became a central part of my becoming an adult struggle, teaching me resilience that extends beyond personal battles into every aspect of life. It also reframed my understanding of the American Dream as not only a goal but a process of persistence, self-care, and survival. I came out the other side not unscarred but more aware of where pain lives and how to carry it without letting it rule me.


    Lessons From A Single Mom’s Struggle

    My mom fought every day to keep our lives and our family together. She carried responsibility like rain on her umbrella, she carried love like sunlight in her hands. Watching her struggle and fight widened my understanding of love as fearless and uncalculated effort.

    I saw sacrifice as a form of devotion and learned that hard work is not just effort but love in motion.

    Persistence:

    Her example of persistence taught me to keep showing up, even when I didn’t feel strong, even when the world said I should retreat. Her determination showed me that achieving the American Dream we have been sold requires more than desire. That it requires resilience, grit, and the ability to keep things moving forward through adversity.

    From her struggle I learned how to value effort over perfection and how to give grace to the imperfect parts of myself, lessons that generate real personal growth and long-term success.


    Growing Up Around Prejudice And Finding Self Worth:

    I grew up in West Virginia, around a lot of people who believed they were better than others because of race, background, appearance, financial status, or identity. It was a perfect example of who not to be, a mirror reflecting all the ways judgment and superiority wound the human spirit.

    Experiencing this type of prejudice as a child taught me to question assumptions, and to challenge beliefs that elevate some while diminishing others.


    Pause here with me:

    If you don’t mind let me pick your brain for a moment, and at the end of the post comment with whatever came to mind…

    What did the American dream show you?

    What were you shocked to find out wasn’t exactly true that you were lead to believe about our history?

    What are you doing to unlearn the lies?


    Small Town Queer:

    As a queer and transgender person, my identity became a source of strength not weakness despite the bias I faced but because of it. I learned to defend my right to exist fully and to demand dignity for all. That struggle shaped a deep well of empathy in me and informed my understanding of resilience in the context of society.

    I learned to recognize another person’s pain, not as a weakness, but as a story waiting to be heard, and realized that real growth comes from confronting injustice, embracing inclusion, and turning hardship into power.


    Shaping Me:

    The experiences that shaped me are not all easy stories. They are heavy with struggle and rich with lessons. These are the cracks where light got in and defeated darkness.

    Poverty gave me appreciation, addiction gave me resilience, my mom’s struggle gave me courage, and prejudice taught me compassion. These experiences did not make me who I am overnight, but they taught me how to keep growing, keep opening, and keep becoming.

    Pain Does NOT Define Me:

    I do not define myself by pain alone but by how I chose to walk through it with gratitude and honesty. My growth as a child into an adult shows that the American Dream is not just a promise, but it is a journey of perseverance, self-discovery, and the will to turn hardship into strength.


    Before you go:

    Consider sharing with others who are unlearning the lies American history courses presented to us. Share with those you care about who somehow still do t get it yet.


  • Poeaxtry & the Prism Press: An Indie DIY Creative Brand

    Poeaxtry & the Prism Press: An Indie DIY Creative Brand

    Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.

    Hello & Welcome Misfits,

    The most ambitious do it yourself project I have ever taken on is not a single item, project, or idea.

    It is my decision to build an entire creative ecosystem from the ground up.

    Poeaxtry_ is not just a store. The Prism is not just a press. Together they are a system that moves from raw minerals in The Great Lakes to a polished ritual tool, from private poem drafts to interactive & gamified digital anthologies, from hiking confessional journals to printable & digital resources for minority voices.

    I did not buy a ready-made brand. I built infrastructure, life experience, and skill from the ground up.


    From Dirt to Designed Object

    This part of creating always starts outside for me.

    Rockhounding is not only aesthetic. It is labor. One minute we are kneeling in gravel pits, scanning riverbeds, carrying a backpack triple the weight it was when I left, back home. The stones are cleaned, sometimes sliced into slabs, or shaped. I then tumble polish or Dremel polished by hand using grit, time, and polish. Some become jewelry, keychains, or carved keepsakes. Some stones will become a part of a wand, wreath, or wind chime. Some fossils and minerals will be sold in specimen jars, providing you with an easy way to show off our awesome finds.

    Creative-Cycle

    This is basically my full-cycle creation. I source the material. I prepare it. I design it. I set it. I post it online or drop it off at a local store. Then I wait for it to sell. Nothing is outsourced. That control is intentional. It keeps the work honest and meaningful.


    Spiritual Supplies

    My spiritual items and supplies include: ritual kits and tools, oil rollers, natural sprays, tinctures, wands, windchimes, wreaths, custom spells, tarot and pendulum readings, digital collections that cover one topic historically to present, personal favorites BOS coming soon, digital / printable freebie book of spells inserts, and way more. All grown from that same foundation. Research meets lived practice. History meets respectful and ethical uses.

    This is spiritual craftsmanship rooted in community care and respect.


    Writing as a Release, Not An Escape:

    The writing and poetry side of my creative company is not just promotional filler. It was planted in life experience and watered by emotions.

    Hiking

    Hiking blogs documenting accessibility, dog & child friendliness, terrain near trails, vibe of the day, and my reflection.

    Emotions & Life Journals

    Emotional journal essays explore confessions, emotions, and thoughts without spectacles and chaos ensuing.

    Witchcraft

    Spiritual posts examine practice without performance. I share information without gatekeeping on an array of witchcraft related topics. These are all beginner and advanced practitioner friendly and you can save the webpage, print it out, or bookmark it as a cheat sheet if you wish.

    Advocacy

    Minority positivity resources confront erasure directly by sharing things like strands for trans info, community events, seminars, politically positive things, calls to submit things to be published that have zero or very small fees.

    Critic

    Media criticism calls out bigotry when it shows up in entertainment, politics, literature, art and more.

    BOS More from the author

    Behind-the-scenes poetry posts may reveal drafting poetry or writing processes from creation through final edit, additional info about how it’s made, Why, where, & with. BOS time lapse for crafting digital and physical items.

    Shorts

    Short stories are being written and mapped out into a ten-story collection. I am currently posting them here and always one at a time. The writing is on the walls and the writing style is psychological thriller, horror-gore, and splatter punk. Not just emotional poetry.

    Voice

    Axton Mitchell strives to make sure his voice remains consistent because it is always his.

    No ghostwriting.

    No content farm rhythm.

    Just sustained narrative built over time.


    Poetry as Interactive Architecture

    The digital poetry collections I curate are not single uploads tossed into the void. The larger books hold fifty plus original poems shaped across seasons. The smaller twenty to twenty-five poem zines are layered with hidden downloads, QR paths, hidden words to complete links to content all of this turns reading into exploration.

    There are free collections because access matters. There are smaller printable editions with drafting notes because process matters. There are minority-friendly positivity zines because representation matters.

    The design work inside Canva Pro becomes part of the art itself. Structure, navigation, hidden layers, and more.

    Poetry is not just expression here. It is experience design.


    Indie Press; Community Infrastructure:

    Poeaxtry & the Prism exists so minority voices are not waiting for permission any longer.

    It is a publishing house, but it is also a submission hub, a spotlight platform for indie creators, a space for collaboration, open mic nights online and in person, creative contests, and long-term plans for physical presence through stores, booths, and partnerships.

    This is infrastructure thinking. It is building a structure that can hold more than one voice.


    Why This Is the Most Ambitious Thing I’ve Built?

    Most DIY projects focus on one discipline or one core thing.

    Mine connects rockhounding, lapidary art, ritual design, tarot practice, hiking documentation, journaling systems, poetry publishing, short fiction, digital content and collections mapping, interactive ebook layering, minority advocacy, media critique, and community architecture into one ecosystem.


    From dirt to draft to download.

    It is ambitious because it refuses to separate craft from voice, spirituality from structure, or business from representation.

    It is ongoing. It is expanding. It is built slowly and deliberately.

    That is my biggest project.


    Before you go:

    Please consider sharing with other indie creative people you know, so they know there’s a place for them.


    Tips and Commitments

    If you can helps support the mission here in anyway at all we appreciate it more than words can explain.

    Ko-fi. Buy me a coffee. PayPal. Cashapp.


  • What I Wish I Had Known: A Letter to Teen Me

    What I Wish I Had Known: A Letter to Teen Me

    Axton age 6 with red colored boxer Rottweiler mix
    Bubba Dog & I

    What advice would you give to your teenage self?

    Advice to Teenage Me:

    An honest and vulnerable letter from a trans man to the teenager he used to be, about identity, self-care, love, family, and the minimal amount of time we have to share made brutally clear.


    What I Wish I Had Known:

    Dear Axton (Yes, that’s your legal name now.),

     Hey. It’s me. You, actually, just older, a lot older, a little more worn in, and carrying a whole lot more than most people expect from me.

    I do not want to sugarcoat this, I see no point in beating around the bush. Some of what’s coming is going to wreck you, and I am sorry for that. Most of this though is going to save you wasted time, from a lot of pain, and from you. The best parts of this you couldn’t have scripted if you tried. So buckle up, you’re in for one hell of a wild ride.

    17 years old circa 2009

    Be You: Unapologetically:

    You spend way too much time perfecting versions of yourself for other people. Trying on identities that don’t quite fit, chasing labels that feel close but never quite right, and looking for just one thing that resonates with you. I know how exhausting that is. I know how lonely it gets, when you can’t explain yourself even to yourself. When you don’t know anyone else who looks anything like you on the inside; how do you even begin to find where you fit?


    Here’s what I need you to hear:

    Bro Axton, you are a man. A transgender man. That is so completely, one hundred percent okay, more than that actually it’s perfect and it fits you finally.

    Listen here kid you are not broken, so don’t listen to anyone who says shit else. You are not even close to being confused. You’re not going through a phase. The discomfort you feel in your own skin has a name, and more importantly there is a way through it to sunny days. The version of you that exists on the other side of that truth is more open, more free, more you than you ever have been, and more at home in his own life. I know it’s probably hard for you to imagine right now, but I promise it’s true.

    Stop apologizing for taking up space. Do not continue making yourself smaller so others feel comfortable. Be you loudly, quietly, however you need to, but be you.


    Give Yourself Grace, Time, and Respect

    You are going to make mistakes, all people do. And you are going to have seasons where you don’t recognize yourself, where you act out of pain instead of intention, or where you look back and cringe. That’s all a part of it. It is called being human.

    I need you to stop being so brutal to yourself about it though. The way you talk to yourself sometimes, you wouldn’t let anyone else speak to you that way. Start holding yourself to that same standard. Be accountable, especially to you.

    Give yourself time. Not every answer is available to you at seventeen, twenty, or even thirty. You only gain the knowledge of what to do in some situations after you’ve lived enough to understand. That’s not failure. That’s process, and lived experience.

    Respect yourself the way you’ll one day learn to. The sooner you start, the better.

    Axton is wearing Long dirty blonde hair, mtn dew pants, gray shirt and smoking a cigarette
    Circa 2010. 18.
    Axton Smoking a Ciggy.

    Self-Care is Not Optional it’s Foundational-

    I know self-care sounds like a buzzword. I know you roll your eyes at it. But listen: your body, your mind, your soul, and your creativity are the tools you do everything with. If you don’t take care of them, everything else suffers, including you.

    Hike more.

    Write more.

    Create more.

    Love more.

    Laugh more… genuinely, loud, without calculating whether it makes you look like a tool.

    These are not distractions from your real life. This is living. This is life. Chase it like it matters, because it does.


    Family is Everything: Show Up until You Cannot

    I know things at home are complicated. I know it’s not always easy. But family. You know the people who are in it with you, imperfect, present, and always there. They matter more than you’re giving them credit for right now, and soon enough you will miss this.

    Be there.

    Show up.

    Put the phone or

    video game down

    & be in the room.

    And your sister, you know which one, I need you to pay close attention here. Be there for her, especially in the hard seasons that are coming. She is going to need her big brother, and you will hate yourself if you don’t shown up, and save her.

    Axton , white and black flat bill, peace sign , tongue out
    Axton, 17. Circa 2009.

    Love Your Mom. Take Every Minute You Get.

    I’m going to be honest with you about something, and I need you to really hear it.

    You lose her, and neither of you is very old when the it happens.

    Mom, your person, your best friend, your creative sounding board, the only one who ever just got you without explanation, she has to leave a week before you turn 30. She’s 50 years young . She is gone. Nothing prepares you for it. Nothing.

    So please. Call her back, text her back, reply to her dumb memes. Stay on the phone the extra hour. Say yes to the plans. Tell her what she means to you while the words can still reach her. Memorize the sound of her laugh and the beat of her heart. Let her be proud of you out loud, squeeze her longer, and make her laugh.

    You cannot get those moments back. You will want every single one of them.


    Don’t Waste Time on the Wrong Love:

    There are going to be people who you think feel almost right, until they show you their true colors. Relationships that teach you something but cost you more than they should. I’m not going to tell you to skip them entirely, they shape you.

    But don’t linger where you shouldn’t. Don’t mistake familiarity for love or intensity for connection. Don’t let them put their hands on you.

    Here is the thing: the right one shows up. Right before the hardest season of your life, just a few weeks before you lose your mom, Kelso walks in. They are the reason you are still standing. They are the one.

    Trust the timing, even when it makes no sense. Especially then.

    Axton age 12 left side, red shirt, mom right side grey sweater.
    Axton & Mom

    The Life Waiting for You Is Worth It

    I know you’re tired. I feel it when you’re confused. I understand that some days the weight of not knowing who you are or where you belong feels like it might actually break you.

    It doesn’t.

    You come out the other side of all of it. You figure out the way you identify, the grief, the love, the loss, and you are still here. You don’t ever think about not creating. And you are always becoming more.

    Do not FORGET:

    Hike more.

    Write more.

    Create more.

    Love more.

    Laugh more.

    And call your mom,

    EVERY TIME YOU THINK OF IT.

    Love you always,

    Axton


    Your Turn

    If you could give teenage you one short memo, what would you say? Drop it in the comments & share it with a friend who you think will resonates with it.


    Bartering & Trade l

    Trade, swap, or barter! Get free digital collections to give honest reviews! Bring Poeaxtry creations to your hands or screen through honest exchanges. Submit a review exchange form or a general purpose form to barter or trade or email me at Poeaxtry@gmail.com to discuss details.


    Before you Go;

    Please consider sharing with your friends who you know deal with grief but do not speak out about it. Share with others you think it may help or who may just need to know there’s someone out there making poetry for people like them


  • Something is Amiss in the Clinic

    Something is Amiss in the Clinic

    Welcome to the third story in my collection of ten. A night-shift intake nurse at a last-resort psychiatric clinic has seen too much to stay silent. Patients arrive broken. They leave recovered… too recovered. Scars gone. Accents erased. Handwriting changed. Administration calls it breakthrough treatment. The nurse calls it something else entirely. What happens in the sublevels stays in the sublevels. Until now.

    Author: AnonNurse22

    Subject: What “Continuity Treatment” Really Means

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Hello. I have debated posting this for months. My belief in the Hippocratic oath is the only reason I am pressing “post” at all.

    I am writing anonymously because every employee contract here contains strict “information containment” clauses and non-disclosure agreements. I am posting from a burner phone on a public connection. I am no longer certain which coworkers are still the people they once were… or which ones have already been replaced.

    The clinic advertises itself as a last-resort treatment center. Severe depression, treatment-resistant schizophrenia, violent instability, dissociation disorders, anything that frightens families badly enough that they begin using phrases like permanent solution gets routed here. Insurance rarely covers treatment, but government assistance programs often do, which is presented publicly as compassion.

    Patients arrive sedated more often than conscious. Intake photographs are taken under harsh lighting, a neutral expression required, a placard held at chest level displaying a treatment authorization number. I once believed the photos were for identification. Now I know they are used for calibration.

    The building is enormous above ground, yet most of the facility extends downward. Elevators labeled with simple floor numbers continue far past the lowest level shown publicly. Access requires rotating clearance codes. Nurses are not supposed to know them, but eventually every long-term employee does.

    The first thing that unsettled me was recovery speed.

    Patients diagnosed for decades, people whose files filled entire storage shelves, were discharged within weeks. Families cried, hugging them, thanking staff for miracles. It is easier to believe in medical breakthroughs than in something else.

    Still, details would not sit quietly.

    A woman admitted for chronic self-harm returned from a restricted procedure wing with both forearms unscarred. Not healed, not faded, simply never injured. Her intake photos showed years of damage. The discharge photos did not. Administration labeled it “archival image corruption.”

    A man with a strong regional accent returned speaking in a flat, locationless cadence. His parents laughed nervously and said he sounded “healthier,” repeating the word several times as if reassuring themselves.

    Handwriting samples changed. 

    Allergies disappeared. 

    Dietary restrictions changed entirely.

    I was told psychological healing causes behavioral shifts. That explanation might account for personality changes, but not anatomical ones.

    One night I escorted a sealed cart to Sublevel C. As the elevator descended, the air grew warmer, faintly metallic. The corridor lights hummed in a way that pressed behind my eyes. Doors were numbered but unmarked. The staff there wore lab clothing without institutional logos.

    A door opened briefly as I passed. Inside, I saw a patient I recognized from intake lying unconscious under surgical lighting. Standing beside the table was another person identical to them, freckles in the same pattern, breathing slowly, surrounded by monitoring equipment.

    I convinced myself exhaustion causes hallucinations. For several nights I repeated that explanation.

    Then I began noticing the containers.

    Large refrigerated units arrived overnight labeled “nutritional reclamation product.” No outside vendor appeared in our supply logs. Everything was processed internally.

    One evening a container seal failed during transfer. A dark fluid seeped along the seam and dripped to the floor. The smell reached me first, warm, heavy, sweet in a way that did not resemble spoiled meat, something fresher than that. My stomach turned so violently I had to brace myself against the wall, swallowing repeatedly just to remain standing. No incident report was filed. Within minutes the floor was sanitized. By the next shift, there was no record anything had spilled.

    Later, passing an open processing room, I saw stainless tables, grinders, packaging lines, portions weighed and vacuum-sealed with distribution codes that matched the cafeteria shipment logs exactly. I made it to a stairwell before vomiting.

    The realization came weeks later in the cafeteria. I was eating halfway through a meal before noticing the same faint sweetness beneath the seasoning, the same metallic aftertaste I had smelled in Sublevel C. I stopped chewing but could not immediately spit it out. That hesitation still makes me sick when I remember it.

    A month after my first visit downstairs, my badge was quietly granted temporary clearance to Sublevel D. I had not requested it.

    Sublevel D resembles a manufacturing floor more than a hospital. Technicians monitor screens comparing biometric data between two bodies at once. The word synchronization appears constantly. Patients are heavily sedated.

    From a storage alcove I watched a patient’s biometric profile scanned while an identical body was adjusted by surgical teams. Skin tone corrected. Posture aligned. Minor asymmetries removed. Only the second body opened its eyes.

    Beyond that wing, a temperature-controlled corridor receives the same refrigerated carts I had seen upstairs, full when entering, lighter when exiting. Intake averages over one hundred patients per month. Cafeteria distribution output matches the caloric yield almost exactly. Nothing here goes to waste.

    Later that week, I saw the same “recovered” patient discharged to waiting family members.

    Consent forms exist. They are titled Radical Continuity Treatment Authorization and buried beneath routine procedural signatures. A technical appendix outlines “resource reclamation following biological redundancy.”

    Some patients do not understand what they sign. Some are too sedated or pressured. But some know exactly what the procedure entails. I have seen patients request it, writing letters explaining they are glad the version returning home will be “the one you always hoped I could be.”

    Staff are trained to use precise language: pre-treatment individual, post-treatment individual. No administrator ever says the word death. On paper, the clinic has none.

    Leaving employment triggers mandatory cognitive exit evaluations. I have seen coworkers depart and return days later calmer, quieter, their clearance photos showing minute facial adjustments I cannot unsee.

    If this post disappears, assume monitoring extends further than policy states.

    There is one more thing people should understand.

    The individuals who return are not flawed copies. They are optimized. Emotional volatility dampened, compliance increased, distress responses reduced. Families describe them as happier, easier, finally themselves. The phrase repeats constantly.

    The people who entered the building do not leave it.

    My shift begins again in two hours. Tonight’s intake authorization list includes a name I recognize, a senior nurse who trained me when I first arrived. Their clearance level was higher than mine last week. The system now lists them as approved for continuity treatment.

    If further updates appear, I still have access. If they do not, and someone you love returns from treatment smiling too evenly, standing a little too still, eating without ever asking what is being served, remember this:

    Recovery and replacement look identical from the outside.

    — Anon Nurse 22

  • How to Let Go: Parent Loss & Grief

    How to Let Go: Parent Loss & Grief


    Best for:

    Adult–children with grief from parent lost, parents struggling after their child passes loss, members of the dead-parents club, and readers of emotional essays

    Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.

    Axton age 12 left side, red shirt, mom right side grey sweater.
    Axton and Mom 2002.

    She was my best friend, my creative soundboard, my compass, and the person I counted on for everything. Losing my mom at her ripe age of 50, about a week before I turned 30, meant I had to become an adult overnight. Eight days before my thirtieth birthday my had to go and…

    *pass*


    Letting Go: The Life I Knew, Losing my Mom-

    There are phases of life we outgrow naturally. Newborn, toddler, childhood, pre-teen, teen, young adulthood. Your first apartment, your first home, and retired all identities you once tried to force to fit, or even a song you couldn’t go a whole day without singing. Then there are the phases that get taken, much much too soon. Not traded in, or upgraded, not gently released, but ripped away from your fingertips in a moment that pulls your life into before and after.

    The Abrupt End-

    The before for me came to an abrupt and dramatic early end on November 7, 2021. When my mom, Stacy passed away at 50 years young. Eight, days later, and I had officially spent three decades here.

    Grief is not a phase you graduate from; it is something you learn to live inside of, watching as the pain shifts and transforms over time.

    I didn’t feel very up to celebrating. I don’t even Think I wanted to honestly, for the first time of my life. What I got instead was a crash course in grief and becoming. I learned how to become the oldest adult, independent, the responsible one, and most importantly besoming me, all alone.


    The Phase Where We Said Goodbye

    The moment that you know before you know, it feels a lot like anticipatory grief. Your mom gets a hospice intake, you are a healthcare worker and you know what that means, yet you still can’t admit you already fr the grief.

    Hospital for Two

    After she got sick but before she passed away, I lived inside a cynical kind of dread. One I couldn’t quite find the name for until I accepted she was leaving . They call it anticipatory grief: the mourning that begins before the start of the loss, when the person is still in front of you. I you can already feel the absence forming at the edges. You can see it in the difference when she inhales or exhales, or when you’re talking her ear off and she’s not carrying on about how loud you can be.

    Watching Her Grow More Sick

    Watching my mom get sick was like watching a slow tide pull me out to the shore you always stood on. I’d catch myself memorizing things, the way she laughed, the curve of her smile, the way she’d look at me if I was up to no good, the exact rhythm of her voice when she was excited about an idea, her heart beat at rest, the way she’d call just to check in and end up on the phone for two hours talking about everything and nothing, but honestly I tried to remember everything.

    Making Peace with the Truth-

    There came a point where I had to make peace with what was happening, not because I wanted to, but because fighting it felt cruel, to her, and to myself. Letting her go was not me giving up on her. It was the most humane, selfless, agonizing act of love I’ve ever had to perform. Praying to a God I don’t even believe in at all to just deliver my mom to peace before my birthday, was not an easy feat.If I am being real, I’ve never stopped grieving that choice, even knowing it was the right one.

    Losing a person who truly saw you, who never required you to filter or polish you. This is how you witness the quietest moments in heartbreak, and the loneliest kind of pain.


    More than Mom: My Person

    People say “my mom” and I mean it is halfway correct at least a thousand different ways. When I say it, I mean my best friend, my creative sounding board, my first phone call when something’s happened good or bad, or simply put the one I could always rely on.

    Our Own Language & More than Tolerance

    We had a language of our own. I’d look at her a certain way or she’d look at me, no words just a vibe, but we would always be on the same page. She understood the way my brain worked, my tangents, passion projects, 2 a.m. spirals of inspiration, and my burnout. She didn’t tolerate me. She lived there and loved there too. She was the only person I never had to translate, filter, or polish me for.

    Loneliness & Living With Grief

    There’s a particular loneliness that comes from losing someone like that. It’s not just grief for the person, it’s grief for the version of you that existed around them only. When you were the most fully yourself. Losing my mom meant losing my witness, and learning to exist without someone who truly saw me has been the loneliest, quietest, and hardest part of this.

    Axton Mitchell & Mom Last Photo together
    Letting her go wasn’t giving up on her. It was the most humane act of love I’ve ever had to perform.

    Grieving Son Holding it Together- Overnight

    I’m the oldest sibling by nine years. That gap meant I’d always occupied a slightly different role part sibling, part adultiest–adult, and part person to set the example. When my mom died, my structure shifted in ways I hadn’t intended or planned for.

    Suddenly becoming the anchor for everyone else meant I had to figure out how to grieve in the quiet spices while I holding the weight of the family’s new world.

    The Biggest Kid

    Suddenly, I wasn’t just the oldest. I was the one the younger ones had to look up to. I was the emotional anchor in rooms where everyone was drowning, which meant I had to figure out how to grieve quietly, or at least quietly enough to still show up for them. I had to learn to hold space for their pain, anger, grief, and more while finding somewhere i could privately work on my own.

    Layered Grief

    That kind of grief is layered and isolating in an earth-shaking way. You lose the only parent you had and, in the same breath, inherit a new weight. You become the family’s North Star before you’ve even figured out where you yourself are standing. There’s no preparation for it. You just do it. I mean it’s not like there’s anyone else who can, and I promised her I would watch over and take care of everyone else.


    Birthday Celebrations: Pains Shadow

    I used to imagine turning 30 as a milestone, me and my mom doing a dirty 30 photoshoot as planned. Like one of those birthdays people make a big thing of. We had it all planned out for ten years. I imagined calling her that morning and hearing her Voice be chaotic, loud, and proud. She was warm in that way only she could be.

    Dirty Thirty: Alone

    Instead, I turned 30 inside a grief so fresh it barely had edges yet all while starting to fall in love with Kelso. I didn’t know yet how big of a roll they would play, but honestly I have no idea what I would do without them.

    She Passed Away 8 Days Before my Birthday-

    My birthday happened the way things do when you’re surviving, technically, and without a giant ceremony. Kelsey and I got a hotel, some bottles of alcohol, and a hot tub. But I digress, what I’ve come to realize is that my day of birth now also counts something else. Not my turning one year older, like it used to be. But a date that now holds both the enormity of what I lost and the tally of the years as they tick-tock right on by .

    There’s something about carrying both of those dates, November 8th and November 16, in the same week every year that makes me dread it for months to come. It doesn’t get smaller, better, or weaker it just becomes more easy to sit with. More familiar,

    I welcome my grief like more of my old pals to pull into nature with you, or a scar that stopped being a wound but still won’t heal.


    The Phase I Had to Say Goodbye To


    The phase I lost wasn’t just the one where she was alive. It was the one where I still got to be somebody’s child, son, or a less adult me. Where I had a safety net that was made of another person, my mother. Where someone in this world had known me my whole life and loved me through every version of me

    Goodbye is not Forever-

    I said goodbye to the future we would have had. The memories we never made, holidays, kelso whom she would have adored, our late-night calls where she’d take my side even when I was wrong. The way she’d beg me to publish my projects. How we’d talked about doing everything together. I grieved things that hadn’t happened yet. This grief is strange and not linear. I grieve for all the new things I cannot share with her and all the times I’ve reached for my phone to call home.

    Saying goodbye to that phase meant accepting that I would have to build something new. A version of myself that carries her influence without having her presently. That’s the ongoing work. Not moving on, but moving forward with her woven into my seams and all I do.

    Stacy and baby Axton both in white shirts
    Blessed I ever got to call you my mom.

    Finding My Mom’s Love Where it Remains:

    Trying to find the threads that still remain,
    grief is not a phase you graduate from, or one you progress through in a linear manner. It’s something you learn to live inside of and alongside differently as time passes. The pain shifts and transforms shapes. The memories get softer around the edges, but her love has yet to go anywhere.


    The Lesson I Learned

    What I’ve learned is that slowly, imperfectly, and unevenly is the way you work through grief, at least if you are me. The goodbye I said to that phase of my life wasn’t the end of her. She is still my creative sounding board, living in everything I create, every idea I chase, and every way I show up for the people I love. She’s in the petty salads attitude I cart. The stubbornness coursing through my veins and the way I still pick up the phone wanting to call her when something happens good or bad.

    When I miss her so much I think I might Break I’ll turn to my sisters and we can share memories of her together.

    So if you too have had to say goodbye in a situation like mine, one that held someone irreplaceable. Then I want you to know you and your grief are vapid. You have a home here.

    Please feel free to share your grief stories in the comments or share with a friend who’s dealing with their own layers of grief.

    Dad, Mom, and Me. In 2004. Bridge Street Middle School 6th grade Family Night
    7th Grade Family Day BSMS Dad, Mom, & Me

    Before You Go:

    Please consider sharing with other members of the dead parents club or other friends you have moving through the house of grief. You never know who just needs to hear someone knows how they feel.


    Contact & Forms:

    Request a copy to Give an Honest Review

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  • Destiny and Fate: Written in Stone or Up for Debate

    Destiny and Fate: Written in Stone or Up for Debate

    Do you believe in fate/destiny?

    Maybe destiny is waiting for you to make the first move.., Maybe it’s just seeing you for the first time while you are reading this.

    Which choices this week could shift your path? Which ones do you think might not turn out so great ?

    Have you ever ruined a chance you thought was meant for you? Showed up a few minutes too late?

    How would you act if your actions fully aligned with your character? What changed?

    Share your thoughts below in the comments. Feel free to reflect, it might just illuminate someone else’s night .

    Questioning Eternity

    I do believe in fate.

    However, I do not believe it is fragile in the way people romanticize it. I also do not buy into the thought pattern that it is guaranteed either.

    Fate to me seems like potential energy. Destiny feels like a set direction to hypothetically take seed if everything falls in the correct places. Potential direction is not the same as a for sure arrival. Do not count your chickens before they hatch, as my momma used to say.

    You can try to delay it.

    You can attempt to distort it.

    You can self-sabotage it.

    And yes, of course, you can definitely ruin it.


    Fate Is a Framework, Not a Guarantee

    Fate is an architecture, the way I see things. Intersections of life that feel inevitable. People who you feel aligned with long before you understand why. The people you meet and instantly feel like you’ve always known them. You ever experience opportunities arriving with timing that feels much too precise to be randomly selected.

    Alignment is not protection.

    If you show up unprepared, careless, arrogant, with a negative vibe, or filled up with lies, you just may destroy your chance at achieving your fate or destiny.

    Fate may bring you to the room.

    Though your character decides whether you stay to play. You cannot blame another’s soul for anyway you chose to roll. The door you choose will decide what you keep or lose. Just be sure you are positive before you decide, for you do not get another try.


    Small Decisions Rewrite Big Outcomes

    People may underestimate how fragile time, location, vibe, and demeanor are to an outcome, even if you feel it’s destined for you.

    You could arrive five minutes late, and miss an opportunity or disaster all because of the timing.

    If you decide to stop and grab a drink on your way through, fill-up on gas, run into a traffic-jam, or need to take a restroom break even.

    If today you choose a brand new street or path.

    Are you feeling flakey after draining your social battery all week? Then try and cancel all the plans you made, over the week.

    Speaking impulsively, have no filter, and mean what words you say.

    Hold your tongue only when you feel like it, speak it into existence.

    Every micro decision creates a new ripple.

    May set you up to meet or miss someone who would or could have changed your life.

    Avoiding disaster in one area may light the fire in another, without you even realizing it.

    Destiny is not only about some grand event. Claim your stake at fate, take hold of all the things meant for you.


    Self-Sabotaging Destiny

    Imposter syndrome should be something you try to slide on by.

    If you are emotionally immature, unready to grow, unwilling to change, or seeking negativity you will get in your own way.

    If you lose sight of what you’re deserving of, you risk that opportunity shutting the door.

    Burning your bridges, and you can watch those paths collapse.

    Treating those around you poorly could put your name on karma’s list. Turning a blessing into a lesson through negative reinforcements.


    Consequence of Fate

    Fate is not an override for anything. Justice, pay-back, and karmic retribution all outweigh potential destiny.

    You do not get to behave however you want and still expect the outcome meant for your highest self. Just as your lowest self’s destiny does not equate to what you are due when vibrating highly.

    The things destined to you do require maintenance or you’ll risk it all coming unglued before you see it through.

    External Forces Do Exist

    At the same time, you are obviously not the only variable that can affect fate.

    The choices of others collide with yours.

    Accidents happen, mistakes take place.

    Weather, emotions, environment, energy, and attention are all variables that influence your destiny, and they remain unable to change purposely.

    Card, Cash, or Check. Please, you know the dollar amount on your bank account matters here more than all else.

    We are all collectively navigating through a shared reality.

    Fate and destiny become collaborations between your choices and a world that is constantly influenced by external factors.

    You are responsible for your own fulfillment, but you are not omnipotent or the only thing that’s to blame.


    Destiny & Alignment, Not Entitlement

    I do not see destiny as something owed to any single person. We are all in control of the things we chose to do, and if you fuck it up, you’re the only one to blame.

    This feels more like alignment to me.

    Make sure your behavior matches your values.

    Strive for your effort to match your ambition.

    Aim to have your integrity match your desires.

    The more aligned you are, the more doors that open naturally as you approach them.

    If you are unlucky enough to fall out of alignment, even fate feels distant.


    Accountability Matters

    If you “screw up,” you’ll get what you’re due. Karmic punishment is not undue.

    If you break trust, you change the faith put into you.

    If you refuse emotional growth, that promotes stagnation.

    Do not choose ego over humility, that will narrow your trail.

    Destiny does not excuse behavior. One is guided by the other.

    Your character determines the version of fate dished to you.


    Do I Believe in Fate or Destiny?

    Yes.

    I believe destiny is dynamic, shifting with daily decisions.

    External forces bending unchanging factors around your life.

    Destiny responds to integrity.

    This is not a fairy tale or safety net.

    An evergreen system of probability, character, timing, and consequence.


    Nothing is happenstance

    Fate can sketch your outline.

    Circumstances may adjust the lighting.

    Though your choices decide whether the picture becomes clear to you or collapses when viewed.

    A moment you can miss.

    Chances can be ruined.

    Don’t miss the chance to grow into opportunities, that were once too small for you.

    Destiny is something not fixed or set in one place. It is responsive.

    The most powerful variable in it is who you choose to be when no one is around to judge you.


    Maybe you overslept for five minutes. Did you take the wrong street? Maybe the person you were waiting for ghosts you, but another person shows up.

    Is the opportunity is disguised as a mistake?

    Or is it nothing at all? Did it make you feel everything all at once?

    What would you do if you knew each and every decision you made rippled farther than you could see?


    Shop Poeaxtry_ by Axton Online now.

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  • Lanterns and Lovers Luminary Night Hike, Mambourg Park 2026

    Lanterns and Lovers Luminary Night Hike, Mambourg Park 2026


    Best For:

    Couples who enjoy nature, low-key out of the normal things to do, Valentine’s Day plans outside of the usual, and central Ohio hikers.


    Valentine’s Day

    Axton And Kelso

    Axton in a yellow winter jacket and glasses with fiancé Kelsey in a black jacket and glasses at Lanterns and Lovers Luminary Night
    Ready to Start Our 2026 Luminary Hike. Our fifth Valentine’s Day together!

    Spending Time, My Language of Love – Lanterns and Lovers Luminary Night

    In the middle of hushed heartbeats and the capitalistic atmosphere around Valentine’s Day, a lantern hike can turn a winter evening into something unforgettable, and you can participate without hurting your bank. Mambourg Park near Lancaster, Ohio provided us with just that. Kelsey and I traded a capital centered holiday perfection and polish for snow-lined paths, flickering lights, and woods that transformed with the layer of darkness twilight brings. We brought romance slow under starlight, trails that move the weight of your thoughts, and moments that make you happy just to be there together.

    Snow melts slowly some brown ground shows through, an individual in a black coat, with black hair, and pink and red checkered pants walks into the barren tree, woods.
    Kelso walking in Oak Trail Loop right before dusk.

    Let Lantern and Snow Guide Your Way:

    The Park sits on approximately 116 acres of mixed woods and meadow in Pleasant Township. The lodge, also known as the nature center was built in the 1940s by naturalist Robert Mambourg. The plan or idea behind the lodge was to make a hub for nature, connection, and education. The park’s seasonal events change as time moves on so check online to see what’s happening at the park and when to be there.

    2026 Valentine’s Day Lanterns and Lovers Luminary Night Walk

    Valentine’s night invited us to lantern lighting trails, the woods turning into a canvas of shadows and a soft flickering glow. The Valentine’s lantern walk ran roughly from 6:30 until 8pm. We chose the shorter loop, about a mile, lined with flameless candles tucked into milk jugs. A safe, and lovely, way to bring a tiny welcoming comity of Forrest-fire-safe flames through the snowy hush.

    The last bit of the sun, winter bare trees, snow , blurry, a milk jug with a fire safe candle in it
    I caught the last glimpse of the sun. This is where Oak Trail Loop crosses the road.

    Trails and What to Know Before Going:

    The park typically is open dawn til dusk unless there is an event like this that keeps it open later, dog and kid friendly, and fairly easy to walk, though slightly uneven footing. Be mindful of waste and practice leave no trace.

    What to Bring:

    • Pack your own drinking water, potable water isn’t available.
    • Dress for the weather
    • Hiking poles
    • Snacks
    • Journal

    Oak Trail:

    A roughly one-mile loop with steps, a footbridge, and forest views that hold change their vibes by candlelight. This one’s moderate, steady, good for focused wandering.

    Hickory Trail:

    A bit longer at about 1.5 miles with gentle up and down changing grade through hickory woods.

    The Path We Took:

    Both trails are looped, but we decided on Oak to keep shorter and more comfortable for Kelsey. Snowfall still firm underfoot, as we shared my bright yellow hiking poles. One for me and one for my stinky. Snow sparkled off the lanterns flickering beams and softened dark woods a little more under starlight.

    Milk jugs with flameless candles line the melting snow patchy trail, the brown colored ground shows through in the melted snow, bare trees, right before twilight
    I love the way these blurry photos of the 2026 Luminary Night Walk at Mambourg in Fairfield County, Ohio turned out.

    Night Hikes – What I Enjoy

    There’s a rhythm at night that daylight steals… the hush of breath, the whisper of footfall on soft snow, the hush of branches that you feel before you ever see. Walking Mambourg after dark made every twig snap feel intimate, every lantern glow like a secret kept between us and the woods.

    Inside the nature center afterward, hot drinks warmed more than hands… they warmed the parts of you that remembered why you showed up.

    After dark, flash visible, milk jug with flameless light, snow with shoe prints, dead grass, stick season trees
    It’s finally night fall, I love the way these blurry photos harsh flash look bad in a good way.

    Think about it:

    Have you ever hiked by milk jug lantern? How about a head lamp? Flash light? Do you like hiking after dark? Tell me all about your experience with it!

    What do you enjoy more the glow of candlelight on snowy woodland grounds, the softness wet footfalls of boots on slightly melted snow, or the shared warmth of a hot drink afterward?

    Tell me what does it for you in the comments below!

    part of the road where oak trail loop crossed it, blacktop visible and snow, a orange glow comes from a milk jug in front of leafless trees
    If you cannot tell the milk jugs had me in a chokehold. They were my Luminary Night Walk specific hyper fixation.

    Fairfield County, Ohio: Mambourg Park After Dark

    Walking with Kelsey with lantern lighting the snow near our feet the path taught me that Valentine’s doesn’t need corporate gloss. It asks for presence, intention, and permission to slow down. Trails that invite you into stillness, woods that whisper possibilities, and moments that make ordinary evenings feel sacred. Moments like this make up the kind of memories that stays with you long after the snow melts and the spring thaws the ground.


    Explore Nearby: Glenford Fort Preserve

    Just a short drive from Mambourg lies Glenford Fort Preserve in Somerset, Ohio. This is an ancient Hopewell culture earthwork site. Complete with trails that invite reflection and deeper connection to place. An abandoned house sits across the bridge and up the driveway from the parking lot. The trail head is tricky and it hides behind the old house. There are stone-walled enclosures that were built roughly 2,000 years ago. The structure here stands as an echo of ancestral landscape use, perfect for a future visits in any season and thoughtful walk with a partner or pal.

    Greenish yellow field of grass, green full summer trees, blue skies, and fluffy clouds at Glenford preserve in summer 2025
    Glenford Preserve Summer 2025

    Hey, before you leave…

    Do you know someone who loves winter trails or parks that have nature events?

    Maybe you have a friend that likes night hikes, DIY lantern light, shared moments, or smaller nature parks with personality?

    Send this post to them invite them to go with you or some place like it close to you!


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