Chantal Christie Weiss
Bio
I serve memories and give myself up as a conduit for creativity.
My self-published poetry book: In Search of My Soul. Available via Amazon
Tip link: https://www.paypal.me/drweissy
Chantal, Spiritual Bad/Ass
England, UK
Stories (99)
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The Reality of the Illusion of Time
Recently, as I strolled along the short stretch to my strength training session, I aimlessly took in the row of tatty shops and shabby buildings along the route and passed an off-street, in which one of my sisters used to live, around thirteen years ago.
By Chantal Christie Weiss18 days ago in Earth
I Saw God Through the Kitchen Window
Cupping my fingers, I glide them across her trapezius and steadily up and along her neck, pushing in my thumb. I finish the move at the base of her skull. I rub with small, deep circles to soften the solidified fascia.
By Chantal Christie Weiss20 days ago in Humans
The Day My Writing Practice Took a Slight Detour
I feel fortunate in life to live just a couple of blocks up from the beach. The beach is my happy place. Some days, and even more so when the weather is beautiful, I will push myself to take a slow walk down and sit and practise some of my writing exercises. And when I say: push myself, I’m embarrassed this may come across as taking where I live for granted or even laziness. But truthfully, it’s more about my procrastination.
By Chantal Christie Weiss25 days ago in Writers
Stepping Out of the Shadow of My Beautiful Twin
I can’t remember how many times I have been almost ‘admired’, not for who I was, but for who I was related to. This admiration would be expressed in the style of the following examples, on finding out I was related to my twin brother:
By Chantal Christie Weiss26 days ago in Psyche
Flaying Façades. Top Story - January 2026.
Prose Poetry Unburdening a menagerie of ghosts exorcised my fragile, fumbling heart. I had told you of jet-black thoughts through intimate chronicles, and discombobulated perceptions ripped beyond the basal of my breasts.
By Chantal Christie Weissabout a month ago in Poets
My Father Wound Is the Size of a Melon
I’d bricked up the ache I had felt from my father’s lack of love or concern for me, a long time ago. I drank the pain away and morphed it into a sexy, vivacious, and fun-loving party lover. It’s true, I did lose days to heartache and hangovers, but that’s Yin and Yang, right?
By Chantal Christie Weissabout a month ago in Psyche
