As a child I lived like a tortoise, my home hitched up on my back, neatly packed away in an overnight bag. Never belonging, but always moving. Back and forth, back and forth. The reality of a joint-custody divorce. At eighteen, I met a boy who promised me home lived within the two of us.… Continue reading Home.
I remember your hands. The roughness of your fingertips, tinged in illegal cigarettes, and your palms – soft and warm. My own felt small and infantile, eclipsed by yours. At times, I felt eclipsed by you entirely. I thought that we were made for each other, the way that my head hit just beneath your… Continue reading Hands
Sorry for the mess She lives here With her weary eyes With her sweaty palms Her nails chewed down to the nub She doesn’t paint them anymore Not worth it Sorry for the mess She lives here With her disheveled hair With the sweater she’s worn for weeks Her body too fatigued to care The… Continue reading Mess
Take me back to when I was young and sat cross legged atop a hill, enchanted by the city lights down below. Back to a time when everything glowed, before I moved to a cracked place, covered in a layer of dust, and frayed along the edges. Do you remember what it was like to… Continue reading …Take me back
My body is mine My body with its curves You say in all the improper places Is mine My body that widened After giving life itself Is mine My body with its scars Seen and unseen Scars from the men I’ve shared it with Scars from the words of people I’ve never known My body… Continue reading Mine
You left me in the rain that night The universe unsympathetic of my broken heart I could have let every tiny drop swallow me whole But I didn’t let them touch me Because I love even the broken bits Even the selfish bits you gave me My love for you is pouring out of me… Continue reading Not Yours
When did you stop being your own person? Exit, all motherly humanitarian instincts. Were they ever there, or was I just swindled by the false promises in your voice? The way that you’d build things up, but never delivered. What a foolish child, Left to listen to the constant creaking of your mattress, another day… Continue reading Cultivating