That feeling— a nighttime walk in the crepuscular lightof late November, leaves crunching under rain bootsI wore by accident, having misunderstood the forecastwhile rushing to catch the late bus in the morning. There’s a certain kind of magic in that kind of being alone,wandering home at half past seven, taking the longer routejust to baskContinue reading “VISIONS OF A LIFE”


Twenty-first century lovesickness: I am tiredof only holding you through a pixelated screen. It’s supposed to be good enough. But I yearnfor conversations under crabapple trees, chappedlip kisses, a love that is less hope and more touch. Does anyone even remember how anymore? Sweat and spit and strands of hair.Limbs unfolding. The delicious sweet ofContinue reading “POOR CONNECTION”

This World Isn’t My Type Anymore

today’s unedited journal entry In my letters I write Things have been good! As good as they can be these days!, forced reassurance leaking through black ballpoint ink, unpoetic lines smeared by a heavy hand. What I mean by good is that I’ve got my hand stuck in a mixed bag. Some mornings I riseContinue reading “This World Isn’t My Type Anymore”

Contact Without Consequences

Tell me it’ll end well. Tell me we’ll sit criss-cross applesauce on wall tapestries fashioned into makeshift beach towels until the August sun bleeds purple dye onto our sweaty thighs. Tell me we’ll make it to the cities forever unchecked on our bucket lists, that we’ll take on the streets clutching clammy hands and notContinue reading “Contact Without Consequences”


I am thinking of the things we leave behind before we even have the chance to notice. Skin cells and soulmates and stories. Strands of loose hair in the shower, fingerprints on escalator handrails, shot glances, minor details of our histories (what you ate for breakfast on your first day of sixth grade), these smallContinue reading “LIFE MOVES ABOVE AWARENESS”

Praise to the Holy Habitual

The story goes like this. One day you’re sitting in a living room on a Friday nightwith the family you chose for yourself, howling laughterricocheting off apartment walls, everyone seeing double.We’re fifteen bodies content in perfect company, pushingthe limits of a noise complaint from the neighbors, butsinging out anyway, because we are here, we areContinue reading “Praise to the Holy Habitual”


Alternate titles:A Collection of Real and Fake Stories: All Involving Hand-HoldingRepressed Trauma, but Make It ArtThese Characters Aren’t Real, so Stop GuessingOr Are They? Perhaps Partially V.Our song has always been “Sleep on the Floor” by The Lumineers. Months after it all ended I ran back to you out of fear of being alone foreverContinue reading “CHAPTER ENDINGS FROM A BOOK I’LL NEVER WRITE”

an excerpt from ANATOMY OF A GIRL ON FIRE

I. On the top shelf of the closet in my childhood bedroom is my heart in a shoebox. I hoard memories because they are the closest replicas I have to a life that can hold its own shape. When people ask about my past I wish I could take them home to rummage through theContinue reading “an excerpt from ANATOMY OF A GIRL ON FIRE”