Like Fish in Water

Lately, we’ve been on the same wavelength in slightly eerie, but mostly sweet, ways. Like how he’ll dream of a specific situation that I wake up in the morning drawn to. Or how we’ll both blurt out “thanks for cleaning the apartment” and “thank you for putting your stuff up” at the same time. Or … More Like Fish in Water

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Cherub

I’m like a small crying cherub filled with helium always on the verge of flying into the clouds and as if I’m on a string le beau will pull me down and remind me to be here with me now

Waiting

I dreamt I was waiting with my friends in a crowded tower. It reminded me of Sunday school. The feeling of waiting, the fear of your parents maybe not showing up. The cold rain and bleak quiet of waiting beside the principal. The relief when dad finally showed up. Something at work. Machine broke down. … More Waiting

Big Time Feels

We stayed up tonight to watch movies. Big Time Adolescence was beautiful. Sad. I didn’t expect it to be. It echoed like a hodgepodge of books, friends, movies. Perks of Being a Wallflower. Catcher in the Rye. Us. And yet, it was, all at once, uniquely itself. There is something so striking and moving and … More Big Time Feels

Trouble

If I don’t write I might explode So I’m here to say that I’m writing and I haven’t exploded and I made my first happy acrylic pour this afternoon. I’ve been feeling a bit manic about art, this time, canvas paintings, acrylic pours. I’ve tried for years to do abstract art well but failed. I … More Trouble

Billow

When I enter the home, there’s a billow of warmth. I associate this with Christmas: winter’s biting contrast. Orange lights. Woody smells. Space heaters scattered across the floor. I think of all the things that made me love the holidays. Not gifts or merchandise. More of the intangibles. Like the bustle of people at the … More Billow

Middle

The cool kids glowed. I remember pulling out of the school parking lot, turning to see the light they cast onto the muddy field. The girls, the boys, so irresistibly cool. Makeup, lemonade, drugs, minds oh-so-so precocious. You smart aleck; you soon-to-be teen mom. How could we have known? Youth gripped us hard. How could you … More Middle

Reverie

Sometimes I find myself lost in paintings: the best pieces, I think, are transportive. You’re no longer in the pristine museum with white walled divides or the living room with its gaudy frames. You’re on some field instead, climbing over oil globs and brush marks and resting in blended shade. You’re on the rainbow trail … More Reverie

Summer Putty

Lately, time’s been this weird amorphous blob. Putty melting and shifting. Sidewalk glob. The sun doesn’t set until eight each night. I’m tricked into thinking I have more time than I do. Then, before I know it, it’s dark and eleven. So I’ve been toying with the putty of time, driving down winding roads with … More Summer Putty

harmony

in a falling cast of white you were there, blinding bright forgotten notes of a song a harmony quietly unmatched

Mango Poppers

Lately, I’ve been flooded with memories. Vignettes. The sight of a person early morning, blue polo, by the coffee machine. Sunday runs with friends and pastel chalk we’d line ourselves with. Fifth grade secrets about love once unrequited, reversed, now going unrequited. Hallway hugs and devious plans, being called on our shit by the guy who got expelled. These images, vivid and clear, are like bursts of yellow mango poppers. Syrupy and strange. Abrupt and angry. And then they fade, quickly, only to make way for another.
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Escapril

we left the cold blank walls white and bland stripped of photos of colors & memories that’d be left, soon enough i was littered with anxiety, apprehension —excitement, above all of not knowing the change that was to come since then, it’s been more of a yearning for continuation as i drive through the well … More Escapril

Lights Under My Eyes

two twenty. AM. 2:21. AM. Two 21. AM. why am I so restless? coffee. wheat thins. crumbs. caffeine. caf –feine. feign. feigning kindness. questions I have for insomnia: are you neurological? genetic? psychological? physical? are you the thoughts churning through my head rapid-pace without regard for gravity, space, time? are you the 100 grams of caffeine laced … More Lights Under My Eyes

bad cliffhangers

my memories keep me warm until I remember they’re just memories I wrote that in the summer first I was defiant then I was tired then I was reminiscent but mostly I was sad sometimes i wonder what the sheer durability of emotion says about humanity and whether it says anything at all and i … More bad cliffhangers

Disjointed

In between ceramic tiles, I empathize with Murakami’s characters (disjointed, numb). I’m reminded of how disconnected I’d once felt, as if this was myself but somehow it wasn’t. I tossed and turned, ran through storms, writhed in bed. Wondered: and so how did she, this other self, feel? Because I felt nothing. Between shallow breaths … More Disjointed

Art Hub

I don’t feel much in the summer, not as much as I do in the winter. There’s something about the onslaught of cold—the onslaught of nostalgia, the wave of emotion, of icy blustery wintry reflection. It’s barely Halloween and I’m ready for Christmas. We’ll have lights, I’ve decided. Rainbow lights. A tree, spindly and green. … More Art Hub

9:54 PM

A man darts out in rainbow swim trunks and grabs his mail. The moon’s a slice of flan in the sky. I slouch and The Weeknd mumble-hums about an after party. I’ve never listened to Wanderlust in full but every time time the song pops up, I hear: “there’s a song by The Weeknd called … More 9:54 PM

happiness floods, stream of consciousness

cool air fading sunsets silhouettes of schoolchildren swinging high high high up I don’t know what it is about dipping temperatures that evokes deep nostalgia for Octobers for plaid skirts that weren’t enough for holey knit lumpgreen sweaters for Halloween nights and panda-looking eyes for reflective lakes reflective tears reflective friendships moving on we moved … More happiness floods, stream of consciousness

City

The city is tired, the city is alive. The city is moving; the city lies still. Stop motion. Slow motion. When the light turns green I cross anyway, counting down the milliseconds, swiveling my sight in circles. The city, from far away, sparkles and sprinkles and glitters and glows. Juxtapositions sit at every street corner. … More City