Writing

I reside in a foreign land, 
An unfamiliar place 
Where I left all familiarity behind. 

I keep running, 
But my past moves faster 
Than I ever could. 

To be your child.

What would it mean to be your child?

Would you still be proud?

And when they refuse to treat me right, 

Would you stand up and be loud?

a time, there was a girl who adored space. She read pages upon pages of books about constellations and the stars, memorizing names and how many miles away they were from earth.

Dear Anthony Bourdain 

somewhere between the time you died and the time you lived 

i found a part of myself in the words you spoke 

I try to meet the next

but it's not quite right

he doesn't make me laugh they way you made me laugh

he doesn't show his affection for me like  you do

he doesn't know me like you know me

ghosts of peo / ple hiding in this house / they grew up in and left / hiding under tables in clo / sets long thin men pale pe / ople dark people all hidden / separately in the same room / waiting for the seeker to finis / h counting endlessly endl