Michaela's Musings

"What is your woman? Is she just a container for the child? That soft pink matter" - "Pink Matter" by Frank Ocean  Content Warning: Discussions of sexuality   Every time I consider going back to Catholicism, I end up at the same conclusions. Religion is too restrictive. Too pure, too clean, too…perfect. It sows guilt for simply being. For being a woman. For bleeding. For curiosity. For thirst. For having an appetite.  I don’t know about you guys, but I have a big fucking appetite. Growing up, and even now, I've always been a big foodie. Whether it's shrimp roti or a bowl of cavatappi, I've always had a deep appreciation for well made food. Eating slowly, savoring every morsel with primal enjoyment.  Throughout my childhood, asceticism was prized. Abstinence from all forms of indulgence. As a chubby child, my parents would encourage me to fast and go on diets. Chide me for taking seconds while filling my brother's plate because "he's a growin...

Something I want to establish is exactly how I conceptualize my animistic views. All of the major fixtures of our world are feminine in my eyes. Embodying this energy in different ways.  The Sun is fierce, ever-burning individuality that never sleeps.  The Moon is soothing, tranquil peace that encourages us to rest and recharge.  The Ocean is a mighty yet nurturing presence teaching us how to let go.  The Earth is a resilient and gentle mother who never lets her children go without.  The Universe is the fast-paced, ever-changing, wet womb constantly creating.  And in one way or another, we are expressions of this divinity.  We are not at the mercy of a tyrannical ruler. Our existence is relational. Sisters, lovers, and mothers. Dependent on how we treat each other. That is how our love and joy live on. Everything is cyclical. Creation, death, and rebirth. Energy cannot be destroyed; it simply takes another form. Everything lives and dies. From hum...

Happy Sunday, everyone! I've been on a mythology and ancient history kick recently, and this is the result. This poem was inspired by the biblical Vision of the Valley of Dry Bones in Ezekiel. Happy reading! The Valley of Dry Bones An endless valley, beat down with heat.  Bleached bones litter the ground,  Abandoned by their god.  Some cracked, others worn down by the passage of time.  Unyielding in its march forward.  Damned for eternity.  Lying in wait.  For what?  Scorching sand pinches my toes as I journey across the barren land.  In my veins, lies the answer.  Blood blessed by an elder monk.  Meant to heal, soothe, and restore.  I must make it to the other side.  The wild wind howls, breathing life back into these worn cadavers.  Hollow rattling fills the air.  Ankles, legs, knees, and necks binding together once more.  Inky voids stare into my flesh and blood.  Face to face with what their god has...

Over the summer, I had a dream. After cleaning my dresser, I found a red rosary I’d gotten in my freshman year of high school. It was a cherry red, with a silver crucifix and centerpiece with Joan of Arc on it. I put it on for fun, donning it like a necklace. My period was in full swing at the time. This is where the dream comes in.  I was in my bedroom that really wasn’t my bedroom and I took down the crucifixes on the walls and instead set up figures and statues to venerate Mary and other spiritual stuff (I don’t quite remember the other things). But I do distinctly remember taking out a pink and white statue of the Virgin Mary.  I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if my subconscious was reflecting my evolving faith or if she was calling out to me. Either way, it has reignited my interest in Catholicism. Not the doctrine, but the traditions. I still reject the religion, but it’s still so beautiful. The stained glass, the hymns, getting seafood on Fridays during Lent, an...

Happy New Year! I hope everyone's holiday season treated them well. I got some much needed sunshine and am happy to be back. At my university, I am a writer for The Drum , Penn State Student Black Caucus's semesterly zine. We're dedicated to informing, highlighting, and sharing Black stories and art!  This past semester was my first time writing with them and it was fantastic. Everyone was welcoming and dedicated to creating a rich, engaging piece of art. The theme was Black Creativity. I wanted to share the zine because it truly was a labor of love. Below, is my article and I've linked the title to the full zine for your reading pleasure. I'm so excited to share what's next this upcoming semester! Here's to a creative and abundant 2026! The Pressure to Represent: Navigating Identity as a Black Creative on Campus By Michaela William A few weeks ago, my fiction writing class read and discussed two stories from Nigerian writer, Pemi Aguda. Beautiful tales haun...

Hello, everyone! With finals week right at my doorstep, I'm going to be extremely busy (😭). With my English portfolio completed, I've decided to post the pieces here! This flash fiction piece was one of the first I ever wrote for the class. It was inspired by one of my close friend's who traveled to Ireland and brought me back a beautiful amethyst necklace (if you're reading this, love you pookie!). Hope you enjoy! A Phiuthrag 's a Phiuthar The thick stench of wet smoke and rain burned my nostrils as I approached the banshee, her violet cloak obscuring her face. Deafening cries erupted from the figure, heralding the imminent demise of one unlucky soul. My thoughts wandered to my sister, bedridden and pale. As I came to a standstill in front of the specter before me, a timid yet daring plea left my mouth. “Can you help me?” As suddenly as her wails began, the spirit stopped. Silence settled, thick and heavy, until all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. As ...