I am a collection of organic molecules called Rochele. Genderqueer. My pronouns are she/her/they/them. Body positive, bisexual, intersectional feminist. Seamstress for the band. Made of love and swear words. Made of stardust. INFJ-A. Taurus. Quirky. ADHD. Glasses enthusiast. Sucker for fresh flowers and coffee. Almost divorced. Barely surviving a global pandemic. Writing bad poetry and hitting publish without second-guessing myself; no longer trashing my drafts. Owning my shit.

I live in Vancouver-ish, BC. I love a clear, blue sky, and I enjoy waking up with the birds. I love sunrises and sunsets, walking on the beach being introspective, laying under the stars and doing the same. Clear eyes and a full heart, feeling my feelings.

What I’m doing with my life: trying to figure out what’s next. I fill my spare time by painting, sometimes reading and writing poetry, sewing poorly, trying new recipes, enjoying a hot bath, and making playlists. These days my telescope is collecting dust, and I miss ignoring my garden from a hammock. The last few years have been monumental. I’m shiny and new and also tired and worn-out.

These days I’m trying to find joy in simple things. Things like driving the speed limit, spontaneous living room dance parties, and putting my laundry away. I hope I never take cuddling or holdings hands or being in the presence of someone I love for granted ever again.


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