I think about your anger often

How maybe it was always there

How I know that my anger was

I Imagine you and I

and The creaking hinge that held us together

But how hard it was to pry us apart.

I think about how carefully I still let your name live inside my mouth

I wonder if I will forget you before the invention of time travel

Or if I will have to keep moving the hands on the clock myself just to get through this.

I wonder If all the words will mean something new by then.

I’ve wished away the dreams

Tossed out the nostalgia and the box I kept it all in

That way I couldn’t blame the past for haunting me because so much has already changed.

Time will craft a version of me you’ve never broken.

A future me with a robot heart and robot hands that is happier because I can no longer feel you like a phantom limb

I think about this future, happier, me and not about you in the present

not about how you still hold your fists like a cage fighter

how you still rattle me

and how the fight in you renders me invisible in a crowd

Me, now, standing in a crowd still rattled my teeth clenched as tight as your fists so I do not say your name

How present me is less lonely because I am not alone

But I am still lonely

Unwilling to fight back

How the match is always a draw

How we both walked away

And future me is thankful that I do not bruise so easily anymore

When future me thinks about your anger and your fists and your name, they will loosen my jaw

I will not think about time or how holding on to it cannot make it stop

It will be easier to say I still love you because of all the new words meaning something else.

Future me will not care that you have always heard I love you and thought it meant something else.

And when I say I’ve wished away all the dreams it will be because the sleep comes like it should.

The sleep just means sleep and I won’t have to pretend the empty side of bed is yours.

Empty will mean healed.

And I hope you know that every version of me wishes away your anger, like the dreams, into a future where both are at peace.


in the nightmares

if you could call them that

I am sitting in your window alone

not alone as if you are not home

it is no longer my home

but alone as if you are gone

a weight of suffocating grief

in the nightmares I sit silent

praying for divine amnesia

to take it all back if I could

because what if,

that August night had stolen you

in a way that night in spring had not

and after the nightmares

I wake, weeping all over again

until we stand at opposite street lights

a weight of suffocating grief

as we both walk home

neither of us alone.



I sent her into every one

of my lightening storms

with a key in one hand

and an umbrella in the other

strike first &

save her (from me) later


phase two.

I dug up every land mine

every photograph

every memory

With my bare hands

Then cut my nails until

There’s was nothing left of you

Underneath them.


I’m the last to tie myself down to anything.

My mouth cuts kite strings mid-flight.

I’m a connoisseur of ways to walk away, a magnet with no hold.

But I am still stuck to our memories like a wall of post it’s notes

and every single one just says “courage, dear heart. you love her”


ladyfest piece… {roughest draft}

a memoir in instagram captions

the story goes,

a kiss turned paper airplane

advice sewn from my grandmother’s quilt.

a chronology of self preservation

a body more wreckage than relic


I told  you I was a fist full of flowers

a tin can telephone between galaxies

a recital of hushed apologies

a seashell held to your cheek


all I meant was that theres a difference between patience and learning to wait

like, time and I were in no hurry

how the softness never meant breaking,

though it did leave a mark

Like a bare knuckle brawl

We never stopped swinging

I digress.


the story goes,

forgiveness is history’s bitter rival

heavy words rock climbing up your throat

in the expanse of little moments,

me, wading through a barefoot land mine


midnight watched us shape shift


I told you that in my dreams you were a drop of water

a dizzied apologist

both an absolute shape and

an infinite space to be swallowed in

that this was the widest I could stretch my hands and still catch you

this was the gentlest I could pluck the secrets from your hair without out knotting them.

a game of tug a war

and all I meant was this was not friendly fire if both our weapons were drawn

I’m more philosopher than thief

with a flower in the barrel of your violent quiet.

and maybe one day I can write a metaphor big enough to unhinge the truth from your jaw

with my pick pocket mouth

I digress.

I will still write you a safety net exit

a mediocre ending

the lyrics to a Joni Mitchell song on a bathroom wall

the goodbye… intrepid.

and the story will go,

a kiss on the forehead

engine smoke and dimmed tail lights

a blanket of un- wished upon stars

empty page after empty page


Because isn’t every story, a love story about something.

no matter the mess we have made.

You say, love shouldn’t require this many words

and I say, won’t I make it sound pretty any way