Mouthy Bard, Speaking
I didn’t start this space to be agreeable.
This is not a brand launch, a soft introduction, or a promise of regular posting. It’s a marker. A line in the ground that says: this is where I put the words that don’t belong anywhere else.
I’ve spent enough years translating myself into something easier to digest. Rounding the edges. Explaining the joke. Removing the teeth before I spoke so no one could accuse me of biting.
That ends here.
Mouthy Bard is for the things that linger — the aftertaste of a moment, the residue of touch, the quiet violence of being misunderstood, the tenderness that survives anyway. It’s for longing, dominance, grief, devotion, wit, and the strange poetry that shows up when you stop asking permission.
Some of what lands here will be intimate. Some of it will be sharp. None of it will be careless.
This isn’t diary writing. It’s witness.
I’m not interested in shouting into the void or performing trauma for applause. I’m interested in precision. In saying the thing cleanly enough that it can’t be mistaken for accident. In leaving words behind like fingerprints instead of footprints — proof that something living passed through.
If you’re looking for comfort, this may not always provide it. If you’re looking for honesty without apology, you’re in the right place.
I’ll write when there’s something worth saying. I’ll stop when silence is more honest.
Either way — I won’t soften it for you.
— Mouthy Bard