men are comfort food
aphonic
you’re a thousand poems I’ll never write
kill your darlings
unnecessary elements loved none the less a painful cut to be made yet given enough time life will kill your darlings for you
magic & loss
more painful than losing the baby was watching you cry and me remembering the November your sweet excuse for everything was, “Hey, I’ve got a pregnant wife at home…”
good takeout
little things get left behind that’s where love hides when you least expect it’s just tears over pepperoni and onions
Pacific
in the bottom of my wardrobe lies a pair of ballet flats that still contain Santa Barbara beach sand from three years ago for reasons in no way related to Santa Barbara or love of the ocean
house fire
the love of a poet is a house fire all consuming burned rafters wedding china shattered baby pictures lost yet when there is nothing left but the sun and smoke to rise you will find the words made it out alive
number two
he loved everything in pencil
accessory
the only things i don’t blame him for are all the earrings i lost
song of the south
I think back on the backwards behaviors I witnessed growing up. The hateful tendencies modeled for me, with a blessed few exceptions that glisten with rarity. I cannot blame people who were and remain too ignorant to conduct themselves any differently, but I will never forget. To forget is to fall victim to the past. […]
