that one 4th of july

you remember the one. at ricci’s in brooklyn

so fucking fun. with everyone you knew and liked

laughter, gossip, cold beer, chill hiphop we

knew every single word to. gorgeous weather

card games, barbecue, pot brownies galore

and you went alone but that moment he arrived

you lit up and said “i’m so happy to see you”

and kissed him so sweetly. what a beautiful day

you’ll chase that feeling forever


everything is

falling apart

i am an

angry scribble

all the time

furious and

numb at any

given moment


i’m glad you’re

doing well

without me

and congrats

on your plan

to propose soon

but god

i’d give


to just

hold your

hand again

the life i want

i’d love to live in a cabin a little way aways

fromĀ other people, but not too far

i want to wear a unbearably soft robe, warmed

to my toes. i want to drink coffee tea hot chocolate


in a cutesy mug from a loved one. as i sit at my window

desk and write. looking outside, watching my cats

play in the snow but never straying far

because i love them, and they love it here with me

the bloodstain

the bloodstain dark brown on bright white textured sheets

i’m so sorry. it’s just i’ve been bleeding for so long i didn’t see it


until it dried. now it’s there, evidence of my inadequacy, of my

disgusting life and habits, the scabbing, the nonstop blood and

compulsion to keep picking for more. more blood for me. more


wounds across my body. scarred. ugly and horrific. if you only

knew what was under my clothes you would lose it. look at me


different. i’m not the friendly girl on the phone or the woman who

smiles brightly when you enter the office. i’m not the person making


you laugh or making you think hard about the state of the world.

the bloodstain dark brown on bright white textured sheets.


wounds across my body. scarred. ugly and horrific. i’m not the

sweetheart doing you favors without pay to preserve some

good on this earth. i’m nothing like that. i’m rotten and nasty;


a walking sore, always oozing, never healing. a black hole of

self-destruction and regret. i’m so sorry. i’ll clean it right away.

blacking out in central park

it’s too hot and you don’t drink enough water

you see the joggers and bikers go by and

wish you could be like them. active. committed

filled with drive desire and determination

instead you’re just a lazy daydreamer

stoned and sweaty. stagnant. addled.

is it too late for me? you think, as the sun

brightens to blinding and the leaves turn dark

party favors

nails in a dusty bin rattling like chimes

in the rich lady’s basement i touch things

that haven’t been touched in years.

tottering in high heels, red spilling from


my wine glass. fascinated by this space;

a museum of mundane beneath a

sprawling mansion. why was i even

invited? upstairs no one knows who i


am. but here, drunk and alone, i see

a moldy old satchel like my dad had

a broken oak table that i saw at a friend’s

lace curtains like grandma’s

everything so familiar to me


corpse forest

piano notes like falling leaves

dark green trees and shrubbery

snaps of branch, then silence

aren’t you playing for me?

drawing me near? luring me

through thorn and mourning

you said to meet you when the

music stops. but here i am


two to three

something was buzzing

as we napped beneath

the tree of pink pixels


in my ear you snored

against my back, soft

bark and branch


a hushed breeze the

bow breaks and into

our laps: a baby