Poetry

Hot denim chokes thighs
While blissfully curled eyelashes
Flatline

It’s not alright and it hasn’t been alright, not since you yelled at me over flowers, but the flowers weren’t really the issue.

I listen to her voice break on the other side of the line, describing all the things he did to make her feel Crazy.

i’m tired of love. of being told that love is going to fix the irrevocable loneliness of existence. because we’re not in love, are we?

It was that burning sensation,
the one that grabs hold
at the base of your throat,
and you cough as if that will help.

You traded our Mother's nest for the rich spit
that watered your seeds, only to sprout Sam's lies:
We need YOU to believe in meritocracy

i’ve always found small towns an interesting concept. to have everyone know you throughout your life, see your best moments, and hardest tragedies.

Cold white fingers close 

Over mottled orange skin

A cry of victory escapes

And rings out over ash and oak

remember when you were too small to trick or treat
handing out candy corn by the door in defeat
you were pretty brave, mostly alright
except when a zombie jumped into the light
they found it funny to make a kid cry
turning happy halloweens into a lie

Even as a kid, I never really liked dressing up for Halloween. It has a little to do with really hating being looked at, probably. And it has a lot to do with hating not being seen, probably.