running ‘round, running ‘round

what i think about most is you in the driver seat making the face you used to make when you wanted more from me than what i am. when you needed me to be more but still less than you; a head nod sending you on your way to do whatever the fuck it was you were going to do regardless. i think about how you said you walked out of the detroit airport and knew, how i drove with one leg up like an american dream and i wonder how two people so magnetic can only orbit. i think about the way you said you loved me when other people were around, the way you’d throw your arm around me and kiss my temple like we hadn’t spent the last however long behind closed doors throwing jabs.

but i see you out there livin’ like the sun don’t set. dancin’ for me darlin’, pirouette pirouette. i forgave you long ago, can you forgive me yet?


something better than in the middle

the last time it was good it wasn’t this good. and my definition of good was always not as bad as yesterday, not as bad as that one time i couldn’t imagine it ever being worse. but this, this is 10 hours of sleep good. the other shoe could drop and it’s still better than you in your unweathered red wings with your laces tied tight catching snow flakes on your tongue while you drug me through the slush. i really shouldn’t even compare because this is giggle fits on a breezy sunday morning while the bedroom floods with sunlight. this is soaking instead of drowning, a warm whisper versus shouting.



You have these people who know not even 180 of a 360 but feel fully entitled to speak on it – on me, on us. Preaches girl power, threatens the women who own theirs. Like they were there in the dark, in the empty spaces between your ego and mine. And I have those who saw it in 3D and are finally seeing me in color again but still have a lens for your specific shade of gray, because I’ve never loved anyone who couldn’t accept the spectrum. Loyal girl can’t stand loyalty outside of her own. Whether you want to believe it or not, I didn’t spend 5 years loving you to leave. And I sure as hell didn’t think we’d be here when I did. That you’d rekindle with those you proclaimed dead or retaliate with the ones you were once repulsed by. Bottle blonde baby can’t hold a candle to my flame. But you know that. And I know you remember me looking at you outside of meatball shop on 8th ave, and again at the table, and again years later in my bed while the sun hit your face through my window in Astoria, and the millions of other times I couldn’t see anything but you. But I grew, I expanded, and in other ways contracted and I couldn’t spend another minute hating you or myself as a result, or keeping you from being who you’ve always really been deep down, or letting you pretend you ever wanted anything different. If being happy means being the villain, I’ll take it because what people thought we were and what you tell them I chose to walk away from isn’t honest or real. And honestly, I don’t owe anyone an explanation for protecting my peace, for walking away from what you chose to offer. I came, I saw, and I left conquered.


Heat advisory

Warmth in my belly while I sit on your kitchen counter and wrap my legs around you from behind. Soon come electricity, slow motion, guarded girl cracks wide open. That forget-the-world-exists-outside-of-us eye contact both in bed and in crowded rooms, showing up like you’ve been here all along. Watching you do happy baby realizing I haven’t been this happy in years, smiling with your eyes and lighting me up from the inside like summertime skies in northern Michigan. Post-shower towel dancing to Mac Miller like you’ve never wished for anything more in your life and I watch you slide on that black denim feeling the same. A street light on a dark corner, New York City winter never felt warmer.


heavy object, lift with care ⚠️

there’s a difference between a man who sends you flowers for you and a man who sends them to be able to say he did. to say, “look how good i am. isn’t she lucky?” as if flowers carry the same weight as sleeping with that girl you know – the one who looks for love in DMs and double taps and thinks self love is found in the comments of a thirst trap. and in an apartment still filled with your things. the one thing he asked you not to do. the one thing you didn’t think you’d have to ask because being together for five years felt like enough of a reason to warrant mutual respect. to ask one week later if you want the comforter he laid her down on as if you should be lucky he was generous enough to offer. a momento to remind you that you made the right choice.

and when you’re done throwing up, and boxing up your things that they left thrown about the bedroom, and moving your boxes into a uhaul, and cutting up every “us” thing you lay eyes on, and figuring out where you and your dog will sleep that night, for a split second you pity them both. because this reminds you of the way you too boiled yourself down to nothing for his satisfaction; how so much of that is the reason you could never go back and so much of the reason he needs you to. you spent six years telling yourself you were the exception, but in hindsight you see you’re part of a pattern. a habit he claims not to have. a burden you no longer have to bear.


curious george

If you’ve ever seen him smile in natural light some part of you is in love with him too. He has legs like tree trunks, rooted only in what he believes to be fact. He’s very matter of fact; though he’s more facts than matter considering he’s not much interested in matters of the heart. He’s got these hands that look like they’ve been put to use, stripping objects to their core just to see how they operate only to walk away, leaving them in pieces, and him proud to have gained insight.


What I think you have to ask yourself is do I feel good? About yourself – mentally, physically, and when you go to bed at night. About the decision and situation – the type of friends you have, the type of people you love, and the reasons they don’t love you back. About the road you’re on and when the next exit is. And if you do, then go on walking tall. But if you don’t, walk the fuck out.



Are you seeing this lightning and thinking about morning yoga? Our version of supported savasana. I’m thinking about the way you kissed me on 9th ave and how every time you’ve put your lips to mine the broken parts of my heart said “not yet”. Have I told you that I hold on to people so tightly I squeeze the life out of of them? I love so deeply I spend years trying to figure out how to find what we lost that I wear holes in myself and in everything around me before I let go. Have I scared you yet? Because you put cracks in the most refined parts of me. Isn’t this too much too soon? I don’t know who you are on Saturday nights in crowded bars but I know your chest beneath my cheek in bed and my face buried in your shoulder on street corners or in the back of a cab and so the rest doesn’t seem to matter. And maybe that’s crazy, but I’m that too. Crazy about cheeseburgers, and tea cup pigs, and men that I can’t control.