Sure, it was you who did the thing. It’s a hassle in some regions more than others, but somehow it was relatively quick, a trip to L.L. Bean on the way home; you were going anyway to buy a sleeping bag, size small. The mouth fit smoothly into your pencil box. Your bike chain is […]
you have made progress! this progress is painful, but it is progress. you can not deny what you felt. you could not keep going that way. that was not an undesirable path, it was an impossible path. you could not keep going that way. you can not change what he can give. this is progress. […]
my will wasn’t broken my will is what drives me to the breaking point why would it give up now? I should know.
This hurts because I feel there’s still more here. It’s not like the others — where I tried until there was nothing left. Here, I tried until I broke. Remember: you broke. It broke you. No gold is worth that. Get your past tense together, you.
Excuse me, but I do believe we have met before. There is simply something about the way you walk, talk, move with your shoulders thrust back when you step and your neck crooked forward when you focus. Your curls are ever so slightly flattened on the side you slept on this morning, though sometimes it […]
Sprung from your forgotten dreams, it came in the morning, followed you from crooked bed to quick turn of the doorknob, the eyes turned to the cool grain away from the soft groan of his consciousness. It trickled and pooled against the pads of your toes, weighted your skin to acquiescing gel into well-worn grooves. […]
An ode to the handshake that will never happen: Some shimmy and slap and clap and twist. Our friendship, it was never so ebullient. Instead, we slyly felt for the wenis — the wenis! imagine that! — and clasped pinkies; we giggled the closed-mouthed smirks of comrades on a makeshift raft of logs we’d gathered, […]
it was us against the world when did it become you against me? when did it become us against ourselves?
I truly cannot stand his kindness, his touch, his being. I do not need reminders of what is gone.
Break up nights always end in wisps: words dwindling to single phrases kneading the silence and folding back into it; responses delayed by worlds of thoughts before spoken quietly, simply, courageously; never are we as vulnerable and open as we are at the end of something real.