Online, I see a lot of writers waxing poetic and posting memes about wanting to get into journalism and publishing based on what they saw growing up in Almost Famous, The Devil Wears Prada, 13 Going on 30, etc. I was raised on those movies, and raised – in the first five years of my life – surrounded by writers and editors. Both of those influences made me feel like writing was not only a viable career path, but a very glamorous one too.
Masterpiece
I see the world askew.
There’s a storm inside
my window,
inside my gemstone eyes.
There’s an army
in my fist,
fighting all my friends.
So, bring me splattered
He imagines regaling his girlfriend, who is sound asleep across the house, underfucked and on her way out soon, out of his life, that is, a fact unacknowledged by either but appreciated by both, with the news that he’s caught a cockroach.
A man without a story is of no interest to the living.
I tried to see another way / and you shimmered / glitch-like / like a god.
Her love can grow 18 feet in a year / roots deeper than a well / Her appetite can leave you hollow / pulling away, yet drawing near
Sometimes, I find myself fantasizing, in a dissociative state where Everything Everywhere All at Once is not just a movie but a real possibility
BABY ANGEL
I waited for her to arrive. We planned to drive to the desert, camp in the shadow of sandstone boulders. On Monday, her tire blew out. On Tuesday, she slept late, too late to set
In the years since my own trip, at 23, I’ve grown generally more wary of people. Have developed a much needed cynicism when it comes to random acts of generosity.
The nuclear fission that generated heat should not have been survivable after one hour.
These days the dead feel / more alive than the living
The room is small and empty and unfamiliar. A pool of vomit in the corner. Cigarette butts ground into yellow carpet. What seem to be streaks of blood coat the walls. It looks like it smells like shit, but all he can smell is the piss in his costume.
I was excited at the idea of killing a man, because I thought I really deserved it.
In winter, a year and a half ago, a patrol car escorted me to a shelter. I had just begun processing the dissolution of a ten-year relationship when I found myself unhoused. After my first night in the shelter, I woke to a text from my ex-girlfriend: you’ll thank me one day.
“Björk.”
“That explains it.”
I’m sorry my body keeps becoming a metaphor. / I’m sorry I kissed every sign looking for the thing it signified. / I’m sorry I wanted proof.
i don't own a time machine / so here i am gargling syrup / at waffle house at 2:13 a.m.
I hadn’t written a line of prose in years. I was a corporate machine running on fumes, yet this girl in a G-string was playing the oracle.
Loving Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder instructs you to maintain boundaries
My task is to record, photograph and label every item the unclaimed dead leave behind. Each file arrives in a brown envelope stamped Housing Bureau - Unclaimed. The instructions are clear: take nothing, feel nothing, sign all pages.
I felt really supported and loved when Chelsea cut her bangs too.
“We should be making deals,” Chloe said.
“Healthy competition,” I said.
“I don’t have any Twitter followers,” I said
I got my period the moment we got to the hotel. Getting my period wasn’t going to affect any of my plans, and was no big deal, really, aside from the fact that I refuse to pay attention to my body so am always completely surprised when my period comes. As such, I had brought no supplies to Miami with me.
You have a great deadpan delivery that lends itself to humor. You’re so quiet, and yet so fucking hilarious.
It’s funny cos I try so hard to be expressive and everyone always gets deadpan.
Tara and I were impressed by the Goth subculture Goth Ryan and Tara’s boyfriend took part in not just because of the black strappy clothes, black fingernails, and heavy eye makeup (which we immediately began imitating), but also their directness and openness about feelings of sadness and rottenness.
Doodles had no memory of life before the circus.
It was over by the apples where I noticed her. She was reaching for a Braeburn, smelling it, and when she looked to her right, I saw her face. Pretty. Pale skin and dark eyes. So familiar.
Where
