I remember not knowing where I'd rest my head. I remember not knowing when or if I'd ever have my own bed.

I remember the days I spent silent and alone. I remember not wanting to remember just how much it hurt to exist.

Today, I am fortunate enough to be a full-time artist, but for much of my life, I was unhoused. Without the many hands that dragged me out of the hole I found myself in, I would not be here before you today.

A list of names lingers in my mind, reminding me of this every day. My story is not unique; the kindness I've been offered is.

The last three years of my life have been nothing short of a miracle. Over a million people online have helped look after and over me, and through them, I have found my voice.

The work before you today is not the work I typically show. It's the work I make not because I want to but because I need to.

Despite my best efforts, I carry my past with me. PTSD, anxiety, and self-isolation have deprived me of my ability to feel.

These works are a reclamation of the time I have lost, numb to the world around me. They are a way out.

Dating from 2016 to now, these poems/drawings are cyclical and putting together this book has reminded me that no matter how far we may go, these feelings will always find us, and I will no longer leave them knocking at my door. I shall invite them in with kindness and hospitality, for I have room to heal.

. .