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