For the most part, the notebooks filled with decade old scribbles, collecting dust in the closet of my childhood bedroom, are illegible. What can be deciphered of my highschool years are angst fueled rambles, longings for places I had never been and listless poems for women who may or may not have existed.
Read MoreThe young woman in a black dress
with a skeleton on its front
is vibrant and oblivious
like a child playing with a skull,
dropping marbles in the sockets
I woke up this morning
with the sight and scent
of bouquets of red roses
assembled on my chest.
This is half to process for myself what I saw today in my newsfeed
Read Morewhen someone
asks how I am
my mind goes
blank.
your face is sticking to my brain
like a wet t-shirt hung up in the
bathroom after we jumped in the
deep end….
