Posts

  • “Name your torture,”
    one of them said
    with a wink.

    I wanted an orchard
    but I swallowed the vodka
    he handed me
    willingly.

    “The Gorge”

  • “I begin to see how the line is crossed, between histrionics and murder.”

     

    –Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye

  • “But I can’t believe in my own sadness, can’t take it seriously. I watch myself crying in the mirror, intrigued by the sight of tears.”

     

    -margaret atwood, cat’s eye

  • “i hurt. i keep that scream in and at what pain.
    at what repeal of salvage and eclipse.
    army unhonored, meriting the gold,
    i have sewn my guns inside my lips.”

     

    –gwendolyn brooks, Riders to the Blood-red Wrath

  • trying to keep semblance of order in creativity. i mean what are they using as containers? teach me.

     

    no, im stubborn and mean. no one can teach me a thing. i have made my castle’s bed of thorns and i have wished you so so well and i will now lie in it.

  • i decide to switch gears.

    call them “collected stories.’
    stop looking at anyone.
    stop staring at screens.
    south philly is not a pleasant walk.
    spend time inside, warm,
    insulated and on the yoga mat
    listening to Hz tones
    and sobbing if the time passes
    too slowly. i can’t count
    anymore, all i am missing is the floral
    crown and you would see me at the
    ceremony watching lovers jump
    the cliff.
    hi.


    i spend time in the mirror
    “collecting stories.”
    right before i met you,
    i asked for everything.

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  • sometimes i think i moved here just to make a ton of money and move back, richer.

    if you think leaving cross country in a car that had no heat with a partner that maybe mildly hated me at the time in the middle of a polar vortex, january, to move to kensington didn’t mark some part of my soul and steal something from me, i intend to prove to you, without blame or fault, how fucked up this journey has made me.

  • i begin to draw my plans back to colorado which i never thought was possible. i wake up with a full savings account and everything worth leaving. i tried. i made some mark. i learned a lot. i wanted to help, the city is gray and full of trash and i feel nothing for it now.

  • this next section is inspired by Midsommar.

    it’s called grief.

     

    it is just me furiously writing and crying and not telling anyone

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