Posts
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They Tell Us
These are the best years of your lives, they tell us,
so stop pretending you're truly suffering.
Chin up, they tell us,
mask your grimace with your widest smile
because everthing is fine.
Stop complaining, they tell us, -
YOU
I watched you talk to her
waiting for the bus, analyzing your face
your freckles, dimples, perfect smile,
you.
I've been obsessed for a month now,
my heart launching into overdrive when I see you walk by. -
once it was may...now it is not
Once it was May,
and flowers bloomed in sidewalk cracks,
robins flitted through the not-quite-summer air and
I lay in bed with the windows open and wrote poems as light as butterfly wings.
I thought I had everything figured out. -
I'm sorry, I have a question:
When did it start?
Girls being told they were less than boys, that they'd never be anything but wives and mothers,
that was their role in society, no questions asked -
temporary goodbye
Sometimes I still scroll through our text messages
nearly two years old now, no one's added a thing since May 2021
and of course no one will, because everything we wrote in there was -
13.
Once I dropped a penny in a fountain and wished to be a teenager.
I was only five; I thought it'd come true.
I insisted to my parents that my wish had been granted,
pretended to act moody like I heard teenagers were,
Loves
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ASHES AND BIRTHDAY CANDLES
your birthday was halo-lit nights and cigarettes in sugar cakes—
melted icing smeared over the tips of flames snuffed out in the dark.
you asked for a songbird, said your lungs were burnt with apocalypse dust
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living room record player
I'm six on the living room floor -
the pink album the pink album I chant -
dad puts the Supremes on the record player, the jacket handed to me -
pink, with three of the most beautiful women I've ever seen -
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Morning in Paris
It’s morning in Paris,
and the city still sleeps,
though the sun has long risen
and the cat has long been stretched in the light
that washes over the quiet courtyard.
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Buttondowns
I love buttondowns
White buttondowns
Crisp white collars
Buttoned up
I feel real now
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somewhere in new zealand with a bowl of pasta
for a friend
i picture you some days – a utensil in one hand and your cheek
in the other, gazing somewhere in the distance as your
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paradoxical
the Midwest is a snake eating its own tail.
get out get out get out is the head, beating in time with the heartbeat of every new baby born in these states,