Empty Me

I’ve told you I’m no good at discarding the beautiful, the keepsakes, the nostalgic, the useless. With no discrimination, no exclusions, “Everything Must Stay!” And stay it has. Your section gathering dust, a menagerie of memories that catch under my skin. A faded emporium gagging on trinkets of costume jewelry and barbie doll memories. Pointed, plastic…

The Poetry Reading

Everyone’s afraid to touch the microphone, everyone except you. You, reflected in the bottom of a water glass, sun in every window, bouncing off buildings, and turning your outline into art. You, with shoulders relaxed, chest rising easily with each soft laugh. Sweet, and genuine, and self-assured, a real natural. Deliberate and calm, handing that…

Motherhood

A once-prized Dolce and Gabbana handbag lying in the corner of the bathroom floor, stained in tiny, makeup-covered fingerprints, empty, save two bright hair ties for little girl braids.

#lust

I think you wanted it to hurt. I think you liked the thought of me, knotted up with jealousy, chained by hashtags half-written to open up the skin and drag out insecurities. You saw my body deserving of a few small cuts, because I didn’t give you enough proof that I gave a fuck… It…

Keepsake

I find it more than a little difficult to let things go. My apartment is strewn with bits of paper: old cookie fortunes, bus passes, parking tickets, anything I think I might need and a hundred things I know I won’t. Still, I keep them, pressed between the pages of books, hidden under flowerpots, scraps…

Ache

I used to be able to tell you anything. Through your silences and perfectly-timed kisses, you opened me up to every word I wanted to speak. Vulnerability, honesty, they were stirred by the taste of your tongue. And together we began unfolding.

Like Ripples

Your smile breaks stillness, ripples on a pond, spreading to your eyes. I breathe in water, smirking, waiting, to drown happily in your laughter.

Morning Spat

These are not productive days. These are the days that I sit in my cubicle, mindlessly typing shitty, witty one-liners for cheap plastic products. Occasionally, between my descriptive bullet points, I wonder what going crazy feels like. I switch to my “Desk Jams” playlist, go to track 16, and imagine my brains being blown out…

Intrusive Thoughts

They stood by the pool table and Meg ran her finger over the green felt. She wondered how long it had been there; how many beers had been spilt across its surface despite the laminated signs taped to each side: NO DRINKS ON POOL TABLE!!! Alan hadn’t listened. His glass sat a few inches from…