When I became lost in the separation of child and mother, Read More
Of myself and the other
When I became lost you became found
You climbed on to the backs of birds and
sailed between land and space for miles
Your back covered in feathers as black as the sky on a moonless night
each freckle an understudy for the veiled stars
Do you see it? Read More
The way the land piques beneath us, like your skin, my fingers hovering millimeters above it, anticipating my touch. Touch. The streets are scars and the rivers arteries feeding the body.
Are all the heroes dead? Or just ours? Will the melodies ever sound the same, as somber and fixed in time as they are now? Will they stay? Because your voice, when you're playing Nutshell and humming Layne's voice on my parlor guitar, and I'm reminiscing over dreams I stopped having years ago; your voice and your fingers and everything else that I love. They stay in that way; reincarnated. I miss the dreams and am in love with the cause; a quandary, because I see things in dreams. Now I just feel like life stops when I sleep. Like death. In backness and nihility. Read More
You hadn’t looked at me in days. You hadn’t really seen me in years. You saw only the heavy black clouds enclosing me. You didn’t understand me. You didn’t want to. You wanted something easier. You wanted to believe you deserved better. You wanted someone smiling back at you from future days. You wanted to stop cranking your neck backward in hopelessness and exhaustion. Read More
And then a woman appeared on the barren land, with seeds in her teeth, and each limb a root in search of earth to plant themselves. And then a woman appeared on the barren land, and not from the rib of any man, and not for his pleasure or to come to his aid, for without woman, there is no life, and there is no man. Read More
I saw you on the moon, dancing in between the rocks, floating in the light. You were something, some remnant from a story my great great grandmother had shared with her husband the night he said he loved her, the night they each realized how much they had to lose. So many beautiful and honest secrets dissembled as fable. I think it was celtic or norse or slavic. Read More
Even on the sides of the steepest slopes and the tallest mountains, even on quests for air and warmth, and even with the sun so close our skin tingles and simmers, our bodies will expand and stretch and pine and settle, comfortably into the trees, comfortably into the grasses, comfortably. Read More
Did you drink the whiskey? Did you call a truce with time? She won't stop searching because she loves you, because she can't imagine her soul disentangled from yours, space forever multiplying between you. Will there be music? There must be music. Could the universe be so cruel? Read More
This all just stops. You know that, of course, but do you really truly know that?
I ache, perpetually, at the realization.
You are my container of happiness, my vessel, my iron safe. How could I ever handle more? I fear for the power of whatever could be loved more by me, even if it is our zenith, our culmination of desire and passion and wanting and patience. In truth, I don’t need more keeping me here, begging me to stay, and I would love such a creation so much it would gut me. Read More
Be with a man that changes your assumptions about fate, Read More
about destiny and probability.
Be with a man who gives you faith, or takes it,
So long as he affects it.
We came from nothing, you know, from sand and mineral, from water and air, from the dying stars we grieved long before time ever was.I think I’m still in mourning. My body has always sensed the loss.
I could never forget this moment and I don't need this picture. I could never forget what coming home each day to this man felt like, how we could occupy such a small space and fill it with such passion; tears and rest and laughter and food, and deaths and rebirths, and smoking and drinking, and pasts and presents and futures all commingling in space and time, and friends and sex: loud and unapologetic, and love, oh my God, love. Read More
Sometimes I feel physically ill from the memory of what I left behind and the way that I left it. I am not capable of the acts I committed, the desperation I induced. I am that woman now, capable of such things. How long am I allowed to toil in heartache for the woman I can never again claim to be? Sometimes I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I wake up often that way. Feels like every unbearable tension, climbing every root of every molar battling for dominance.
Why are each journey's impending ends so difficult to conquer?When you feel close enough to see it, but still too far to claim it?
As if reaching and grasping at a too-distant destination is an agony worse than seeing nothing at all,
nothing to tease or torment, just stumbling around in the dark and hoping for good news.
I'm so tired. I know you are too.
I'm so ready. I know you are too.
I’ve been telling you how beautiful you are since we were little girls, but maybe a little too quietly or without enough faith. I never lost it in you. Maybe you didn’t believe me. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe even you didn’t know how.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive the 15 years of time that existed between knowing you and loving you; but maybe it’s hollow lamenting not-knowings, past lives you were only a part of in obscure ways, or distances we utilized as justifications to exist separately in the universe. It feels wrong indulging such a twinge in my heart over something that finally submerged me in much needed hope, happiness, love, and fruition, because I’m anything but ungrateful.
A 30-day collection of love letters Read More
You're like a walking sun, but maybe it's not a big deal. Maybe it's not a big deal that you take care of me in ways foreign to me, that I can physically feel your love for me emanating from every pore of your body, that it's you and me against the world.
l think about you on these roads to nothingness, I think about my pain or regret or guilt that have become dead-end branches off my heart forever reminding the blood running through me that I could have been better, that I fucked up, that some things are never undone and never forgiven and never forgotten. Have you forgiven me? Have you eulogized the branches of your own heart? Or are you still struggling to live in harmony with the hurt?
Last night we hung out in the kitchen partaking in fridge poetry. Dear universe, sometimes it's too sweet and good to be true.