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it’s been a minute

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tfw you have spent way too much money in one day on products to hide your insecurities and are now even more ashamed of yourself than you were before but you have red hair again so whatever 🦑

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☀️☕️📚

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this photo is brought to you by flonase

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good morning, it’s spring, the flowers are here, and I just had the best dirty chai of my life 🌸

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Famous When Dead aka F.W.D. aka FWDead (British, b. Stoke on Trent, Staffordshire, England) - House On Fire, 2016  Paintings: Acrylics on Wood

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im not sure when I chose poetry or poetry chose me but I can say that it’s always there. from scribbling out middle school cloudy feelings to trying to preserve minutes or seconds or days by trying to word paint them. these have been a few of my closest comforts lately, among many, and I hope they can mean something to you too. i like writing poetry because I can’t really regret it. I can’t get mad that x thing sent me into x crisis and I decided to work through it on paper rather than drowning in it. that’s a hard thing to do. I can’t hate myself because the last poem in this series is something I felt was a huge rock falling on me at the time but it’s been a year and I’m older now. the words stay put and I guess that’s the point. happy #nationalpoetryday, and every other poetry day. ( in order: ben purkert, bukowski, nikky finney, ocean vuong, margaret atwood, e.e. cummings, eireann corrigan, harryette mullen, and yours truly. )

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happy march, a week late

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I finally met #fray @xelathib after a whole lifetime and sang loudly to cable car inside of a cable car as life came full circle, what a wonderful treat of a human💜💐#thismeanspartyinsignlanguage

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still alive, but only in theory

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concept: my titties being held by worthy and loyal soft hands

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Takatsugu Kimura

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she’s 5!! 🌹

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I have a job now and I have responsibilities, I have to run a store and take care of more people than just myself. I have to listen and be listened to. I drive through the fog in the morning and pass through quiet towns on the way home. when I am awake with wet hair, trying to see through the rain out the window, he’s still sleeping behind me. there’s a difference that floats in the air now, something more red and heavy, but the comfortable kind. my blanket that lays over us at night. it’s the way we’re able to smile in the morning now, and laugh before there’s anything to even laugh about, and he hugs me longer and we are both worried that the others day will go smoothly enough being apart, and there’s something new that hangs around me that wasn’t quite there before. I carry it around all day on my feet and return with it at night, a new kind of excitement and love and “is this happening so easily?” that makes me say okay, this is real and I’m not scared of it. this is real and it feels more right than anything else. there are no gaps between our words and it is so fucking dizzying the way it feels to follow somebody else’s thoughts so closely, pressed tight together even for hours until we finally fall asleep. I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it, it’s just that I’ve stumbled upon something that I can’t help but write about and feel good about and I am amazed at myself for being a part of it. anyways.

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december jumps headfirst into a frozen lake and resurfaces, cheeks red and something bloody about him. it’s in his teeth, the way his smile is carved out of wood, the way his laugh sounds like someone fell asleep on the car horn and didn’t wake up. we drink coffee spiked with something bitter and kiss at a hundred miles an hour. we’re always going way above the speed limit on empty roads, making up our own words to the songs, unbuckling our seat belts. december is crying in his car about something he can’t change: the way his body doesn’t feel right, like the sun going down so early, the way he’s never felt like a part of everything. we’re both puzzle pieces with something missing. we both think of stepping onto thin ice and walking around for a while.

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