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A lot of what you now call ours was mine – Traif, East River State Park, the scent you may not have found if I didn’t lead you to it. You tried on all of my best and hated me when it didn’t fit. Shamed my worst because it didn’t serve you. And I let you. I stayed quiet, mostly. I shared, I opened, I gave direction to my power source and I stood still watching you drain it; in crowded rooms over drinks and on our couch in the dark. And then I’d soothe your frustrations while I tried to reboot, constantly struggling to fill my glass as quick as you drank it down. What was mine was yours and what was yours was yours and I guess the blame is ours to share.


are you afraid of the dark?

When you’re away I think I just might maybe be able to forget the way I feel when I look you in the eye. How when you say, “you look tired” I hear, “come here, rest easy, welcome home.” I think maybe this is a phase or a thing I can outgrow or undo, but I believe the universe shows us what we need when we need it and I needed to look in the mirror and see the parts of myself I’d been hiding in fear of being too big for someone too small. I needed to shine light on the gaps to see where and how I’d gotten lost in them and to understand why I make homes out of abandon bodies. And most importantly, I needed to stop being so fucking afraid of the dark. I’ve rattled the monsters under my bed, I’m hitting the light switch, I’m coming home.


rolling in the deep

Violent thunderstorms make me think about the way your chest felt underneath my cheek and how your hand on my waist made me feel alive again – no where near dead, nowhere near done or undeserving. And when the lightning strikes I cry from somewhere deeper than usual knowing how badly I want, need you to light me up that way. I hate myself for falling apart from a simple touch, from a few hours at a time, a handful of kisses, a shoulder I clung to and buried my face in for comfort.

But big girls don’t cry and we choose logic over love and security over sensuality and we build these big, sought after prisons run by a boy who doesn’t deserve the labor and we wake up each morning, look ourselves in the mirror, and say “this is what you wanted”. A prison of our making, a loneliness of our doing.


you’ve got mail

If I could, I’d tell you how I drink wine in the dark in hopes to drown you out, but I see you in the shadows and streetlights and so you fill my mind and the room regardless. I’d tell you there’s a word for the way you make me feel, it’s just so rare and felt by so few we haven’t heard it yet. I’d say “come closer”, “hold me tighter”, “don’t leave”. I’d thank you; with words, with warm silence, with my body. I’d take shelter in your arms and stay for as long as you’d let me. I’d tell you how every time I see you my whole body smiles, how you make my every nerve buzz like bass coming through a speaker. I’d tell you I’ve never felt more seen, more acknowledged, more decrypted. I’d say “i missed you”, “color me in”, “fill me up”.


ain’t always summer in june

I can feel it when I kiss him – the love, the last 4 years, me in Astoria holding on to a pillow that smelt like him and thanking the universe for his existence. And then I think about all the things that happened between then and this empty cup we hope refills itself. In love with each other for all the same reasons that keep us at arms length. And of all the things I’ve made sense of in my life, this is not one of them: how two people can love each other so deeply and still not know how to connect the dots; intimacy, to communication, to finances, to dirty dishes. Love alone does not sustain a life together. When I say left he says he prefers right and we go in circles around one another, reaching and retracting on a mood leftover from the argument before this one. Dizzy, drained, disillusioned.



I can feel him in a room before I see him. But once I do, once our eyes find one another’s, I swear there’s an electric current jumpstarting every nerve in my body. We don’t make sense, but we make fire, and electricity, and all other things that light up the dark, that take you from simmering to boiling over.


healing power

I haven’t been that close, physically or emotionally, in years. A decade in comparison. You forget the way your mind goes blank, the way – nose to nose and smile to smile – the world disappears around you. You forget how it feels to be wanted, to be met with “show me more” instead of “be less”. So you wring yourself out thinking you can extract wanting to be wanted drip by drip, hang drying until you crack, sure that if you could drown once more that’d be enough. But they leave their taste in your mouth, the shape of their body imprinted in your memory, the smell of their hair coming back to you on every humid day since and that part of yourself that you kept hidden for the last 10 years starts clawing at the surface begging to be seen, be heard, be healed.



I remember how you used to kiss me, the way every part of you melted in my mouth, the way you stayed close in open spaces, the time you said you’d marry me that very day if it was what I wanted and then held me instead. 2016 archives that I haven’t forgotten.

I remember being backed into a corner and my sharpest claws coming out and how ashamed I was that you had seen my ugly, my darkness, my worst. We were never the same after that and it took years to admit aloud. Maybe it was over before you weren’t sure, before you shut the door on me and started opening windows in search of fresh air. I can still remember how you kissed me when I finally came back home because you haven’t kissed me that way since. A search history I can’t quite clear.

I remember never wanting to leave our apartment and hating you when you did, how I’d curl up in a dry bath tub fully clothed to mourn my losses, the look in your eyes when we got that puppy we didn’t need – like she could fill the emptiness we’d carved out in one another. Empty in ways we don’t even acknowledge, likely in fear we might realize what’s missing, what fits, what feels better than this.


Deja vu

if i look at him straight on i can feel you in the room and if i catch him from behind i can see you face down on gold street hiding your face in a pillow so i couldn’t see you letting go. pushing away. the universe has me looking at a similar face while hearing all the things i needed to hear you say and never did. this is the right place at the wrong time. we were always right time, wrong place. too much space to lose sight, too many winters, too much time for the heavy fog our bodies made to lift. it’s funny how no closure has left me so open. he looks at me the way you did. i lived on that look for years and starved when the electricity shorted. when he laughs i can see you on grove street, i can feel you wanting to love me and not knowing how, i can taste how desperately i thought i needed you to do so.