generally
I'm not, but I look taller. And I'm not blonde anymore because I never actually was. When I see her in pictures I do not recognize her even though I know her so deeply. I know her in patterns and seasons and context that she does not yet. I love her for every reason I… Continue reading A short story
Carve into asphalt ruts again, know them better than my own skin. Immediately I am seventeen on another midnight drive home; my headlights make all the same old shadows. Pink Bullets in my mind, but Pine Hill puts the hole in my chest. I hope you still love that remodeled A-frame, your dream that came… Continue reading I Was Walking With a Ghost
Probably about half is missing– large parts of what makes a person, torn off, bloodied and ragged, or atrophied – what would've otherwise formed, but it was the survival years. Everything is stitched up, the damage contained in real time. It does not look nice, but she was a toddler learning to sew and forgetting… Continue reading My best work
All my life led me. I asked for beauty and waited into ages I never imagined inhabiting. Never thought I would prove her at such numbers. I asked for dreams upon dreams and was given such pain I twisted and changed over and over again, woke with a start from so many things I didn't… Continue reading Orange Tree
How dare we all? Go into that night, at all. We who create all the meaning there ever was, and is, and is to come. We who carry life heavy, because it is, and see everything by light, because we are (made of stars). We who compose cities of stars, but don't know, or don't… Continue reading Night
It still surprises me, these traces when I find them, shallow enough to feel them, my veins of Fool’s gold that shouldn't be unmapped, untapped. Parts of me still holding onto the parts of you that hurt me, like if I can feel it long enough it'll be worth it, like my longevity gives your… Continue reading Betrayed
There is just nothing beautiful in winter that I can see, or feel, or write into a warm meaning. I don't know how. And there is nothing beautiful in the things you did, and said, and I could write about it, paint blood into art– I do know how. But how dare I make meaning… Continue reading some things
some days, at the end of her day, the Queen set down her scepter. knelt down on her floor, face down on her ground, and bowed before the weight of it all. and let it crush her, crumpled, tears pulled forth in steady streams– that some have so very much and some have nothing at… Continue reading The Grieving Queen
two sad, brown eyes dark and deep and rimmed with memories I do not contain. it's always you I see in them, so I never looked for long, never asked for them anyway, never chose them for myself, until today– I never have to love you, but I have got to learn to love the… Continue reading It’s Hard to See Him
small is the one crafted in unlove pockets filled with empty to contain the fewest needs to earn the air and space that you breathe and take to earn some right to life to offset the creators' regret but your debt only ever grows so pockets filled with empty the one crafted in unlove is… Continue reading It’s Hard to See Her
melissa 