I wonder if I’ll tell my kids
about the lull in life,
that midway point in your twenties
where everyone around you is
falling in and out of love simultaneously
while you’re left there standing,

I’m not saying
it’s always romance:
the way you watch a girl curl inside herself
on a stairwell,
a human ball of yarn not ready to unfurl.
It’s the way you sit in a car with your friends not really listening, but watching the brake lights fade from the car parked in front of you,
end goal.

I wonder if my kids will know
about the nights you will go to bed
not feeling unfulfilled,
but wondering if you’re missing something.

I hope at 22 they won’t begrudge
going to bed at 9:41 like me;
I hope at 22 they’ll understand
their surroundings,
not be stuck writing poetry to make
sense of their reality,
to unpack their weeks of

I hope this “lull” phase
is something that only affects


A Smooth Sea

You still
take anchor
in my dreams;
hold fast like
a trick of light,
a good thing.

are the question
that I’m still answering.
Thought closure
was closed doors
but you came back—

why’d you come back?

Wasn’t once enough
to leave me

It’s Nice to Know

I’m sitting in the
parking lot of Red
Robin and thinking about
how this whole plan
to have “peace of
mind”, even if it means
forcing myself to be
happy, actually feels a lot
like just happy.

I’m okay with that.

Driving down the highway,
picking up dresses
I have no plans for
(yet) and smiling
to whatever song
comes off the speaker,
liking the way I look
meeting the one person
who’s made an effort to see me
over this very chill break,

unlike the last time
I was here with
somebody who only
has ever truly given me

It’s nice.
To write some stupid poem
while waiting,
to appreciate
the little things,
the people who stay,
to grow into
your own life;
to know
after a very rough month,
you can be okay
after making mistakes.

I Love YOU More…

Part of you
is waiting for the poem
where you don’t write about him
with love between the lines.

A boy who spent the majority
of your friendship
trying to get you in his bed,
is not really a friend.
You’re ashamed it took you
this long to see that.

You are mad
that you only realize
how much he’s failed you
after an argument,
a disagreement,
about how this time
in the company of friends
he is not looking away from you
and biting his lip

about how this time
he barely hugs you goodbye
because others are watching

and you remember that time
he told you, you could be something
but not there
and not in front of mutual friends
and somehow,
you still made time for him

you still put effort in—

all of you
wants to stop pouring out love
for people
for “friends”
who will never be worth it.

Unexplained Sadness

The void uses your body
as a cave,
a hiding place
when the first second guess
creeps in.

It fills you, deep,
the way a lover might be able
if you let them close enough
to touch you,
if you didn’t feel the urge
to bathe yourself when their
hands make contact.

You don’t trust,
Not even yourself.
Your tongue is too coarse
and you eyes are too raw
and you wonder if the hate
you feel for yourself
is as palpable on your skin
as is the dryness of winter.
The way everything smooth
shrivels into something other.

The empty
holds you like a home.
The ugly kisses your cheeks
like a child,
promises to nourish you away
from awe,
talks about misplacing your wonder
as if it were a toy
to go back in the box.

The sunshine
is grey here.

The bed feels so big
when you cry.


Body to become a lantern,
to once again be that glowing thing,
that glowing girl again.
Body of a girl
with the sun under her skin.
Body of a fire sign,
flames rekindling.

Body holding heart
like a lifeline,
not putting pen to paper
to mimic razor on skin,
not like with him.

Body with a heart
that still loves you
possibly eternally,
some way,
hopefully never hatefully.

Body with eyes like waterfalls,
breathtaking and perpetually
Body with a writhing soul
that still cries for you.

Body with arms that
become stuck hinges,
with a mouth
that has no target
for kisses.
Body of a girl who

Body of a girl
who didn’t break,
who won’t break,
who’s realizing
with both head
and heart,
when you didn’t fight
to keep her,
when you changed your
stupid social media statuses
the same day.

Body, home to flickering candle,
to healing warrior,
to resting phoenix.
Body of a girl,
who stopped giving,
when all you did was take.

In a Moment

I realize now
why I teared up in class,
why my professor stopped her lecture
to ask if was I alright.
And I wasn’t;
but you know I lied, right?

It was the thought of sitting in a car
with 4 pouring out my heart
about something I couldn’t explain
sharing a moment to be thrilled
I was creating something
bigger than me,
some tragedy that wasn’t
bad love or
crap poetry.

It was 4.
It has been 4 for a while now
and believing that
he could lie so easily
about having sex with me,
to avoid having sex with her,

It was learning that
someone I considered my best friend,
knew the truth,
and didn’t consult me,
didn’t defend me,
took the final nail
to the coffin of our
once friendship and
beat it in indefinitely.

So YOU know
a lot about pain, right?
So I know a lot
about heartache,
about dreams of you,
about journaling and not being able
to write your name.

But in that moment,
on Tuesday,
thinking of a conversation I had
with a boy in his car,
gushing about getting my mentor,
having him know how much those 8000
words mean to me,
I didn’t know who to believe.

In that moment,
for the first time, in a long time
I felt my heartbreak,
and it had nothing to do with a boy
leaving me.