oh dear, it’s me

Today I drove 160 miles
from Nevada City to San Francisco
There were the rolling hills and
of course, amber waves of grain
I listened to Turnover and The 1975
and thought about everything
and nothing at the same time
To be totally honest it’s hard
to feel much of anything at all,
anymore

I don’t know what it feels like
to trust another person…
to actually want to be around
someone for more than a few hours
I remember there was warmth
and that it felt natural at the time
I’ve painted myself in so many layers
of ‘working on myself’ and ‘self love’
that I’ve become impenetrable, so solid
that I couldn’t feel warmth if I tried
It makes me sad because I recall
oozing liquid gold because of a look,
a touch, a feeling, mere eye contact —
where did that girl go?
I don’t feel real anymore
and I’m sorry to my divine self
because in the quest to become strong
I’m somehow the weakest I’ve ever been.




affirming amber

I swear I’m happy
but it can be lonely
celebrating your success
by yourself, with a
carousel of friends

It feels almost pathetic
to talk about loneliness
why is that so? It’s a
valid human feeling
as natural as any other
of the human condition

Sometimes I’m overfloweth
with gratitude. The sun herself
radiates from inside my body
warming the people around me
It feels so sad and useless to
not give that energy to someone
who can reciprocate. Maybe
no one can reciprocate with me.

I guess the most beautiful and
exciting part of my life is that
I romanticize myself. I have to.
Yes, I make myself dinner, and
take myself to the movies. Buy
myself flowers every single week.
Oh but wouldn’t it be so lovely to
buy flowers for someone else?

AM

a sunny breakfast with you
you toast, and I slice avocado
bedroom pop plays and I
sink into your arms
no, not ready yet
my fingertips are stained
deep reds and purples
the juices from the berries are
as buoyant and ripe as your
eyes the first night we met
I like my eggs over medium
where the yolk leaks gold
when handled roughly
the way my heart pours
when you touch me
we never got to enjoy the
meal that we spent so
long making together
I bet it would have been delicious

lone(ly)(r)(star)

The sky cracks and a gold rush hugs me
we’re stories above the world and
nightfall looms as the city lights flicker

This is going to be my summer
My mind races trying to piece it together
The summer of jean skirts and silk shirts

You look my way, shrug and smile
I bat my eyes at you with respite
you can’t get enough of my pursed lips
and spaghetti strapped shoulders

The warmth of your skin makes
my body ache, I think it’s desire but
I look and your tanned skin is burned
A firery rose color adorns your cheeks
we exchange glances and both know
we’re going to burn much worse tonight

Your profile was curt but honest
Integrity is hard to come by in this city
Men have a preference for a quick kill:
Feeling connected through a conversation
before rawdogging her on a Tuesday night
Only never to be heard from again

But I don’t text them either
I don’t reach out
I certainly don’t call
What is the Gen Z term for
mutual ghosting of two people
who fucked once

wash(ed)

Orange reflects on the rustled surface of mystery-shaded deep blue of the East River

Hazy cityscape in the distance illuminates the piercing red sun, perfectly round like a checkers piece, falls behind what as far as I can tell is Chelsea on the west side highway. Alone but not lonely, I’m creating a pattern coming back to this narrative but this time I fucking mean it. Well I always fucking mean it if I’m being honest. I evolve daily and move as fast as the crests of water glimmering orange on the East River at dusk tonight

I don’t know if I can survive anywhere else: the way the city swallows me and spits me back out in even more flattering light. Where else can do that? I might be comfortable in California or Colorado, but the city challenges me in new ways each corner I turn. I’m staring at the Williamsburg bridge right now, and can see the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges crossing down way, I’m entirely too lucky to be witnessing my lucid thoughts in real time like this.

I rely on me for self soothing, and I rely on myself in progressing to where I want to be. Have I paid proper homage to the city for giving me an endless canvas to create on? I can’t go anywhere else for I fear I will be left reeling, I need her in my life. She’s been the one constant in my growth. Then here it is: the fucking distraction.

Curly brown hair broad shoulders I wanna trace the line down your back I can see through your thin white cotton shirt, turn around I wanna see what your face looks like. I look at your tattoos, large on your left arm and scattered around your lower legs and I wanna touch you. It’s strange but I think I could show you how good it feels to be loved by me. Let’s get you to sign off on this experiment and let’s pretend this is real and let me show you how any person would be lucky to have me think about them the way I’m fantasizing about you right now.

death by dial

I just want to see you cry
what do you even cry about?
do you even cry at all?
I saw a book in your room
that also sat on my shelf before
it’s a workbook for anxiety
I wasn’t making fun of you
I was bursting at the seams
because I fucking get it
I see you

you said I used you like a sex object
you’re the one who always texted me
late at night, asking for pictures and videos
telling me I drive you crazy and
I’m the best sex you’ve ever had
I just like your attention
even if it was empty
it was sufficient
for what I needed at the time
now my glass is full with the
liquid I’ve made with my
bare fucking hands
so when I ask for more it’s not
because I wanted to drink you then
it’s because I’m desperately thirsty now
in this new kitchen, with sunlight and plants
my kitchen, built by my hands

I didn’t have much before
now I romanticize evening showers
and early mornings at my dining table
but I would be lying if I said I didn’t
want to share it with you, sometimes
I don’t know what you’re actually like
but I have a feeling you would like
cuddling with me on my couch
and cooking salmon, rice and sprouts
getting high and reading books together
sitting on the porch arguing even
I mean we could have sex too,
I know you like me in bed
but I want to see what you’re like
sitting in my kitchen, built by my hands
you know I had no kitchen
to speak of when we first met

Only here

I can catch the next one out
sell my furniture, pack my things
negotiate a permanent flex at work
have farewell parties with friends
I could be out by the month’s end
It would be California or Colorado
I like the way I feel in the west

I’ll no longer do 4am Friday nights
followed by hungover Saturday mornings
No more pizza by the slice down the street
and weeknight Seamless dinners by myself
Cocaine is not so prevalent in MT and PT
and maybe the boys are less concerned
with how things look and actually
in touch with how they feel

I could buy myself a car, a Tesla Model 3
become the only homeowner in my family
Go from a NYC 5 to a wherever-I-end-up 8
I could take up skiing or snowboarding
have a garage out back for me to splatter
paint on canvas without pissing off my
cranky NYC landlord

How much of this fantasy is true
and how much of it is a projection
Do I genuinely think I could be
someone else if I just left here
why do I yearn for the things I don’t have


J is for jam

I wish I had a new memory of us to write about
but we haven’t seen each other in years
but when I hear your voice describe it to me,
like you did on Saturday, it still feels so new

We always go for the same fantasy
It was the last sunset of September
and I invited you over because I felt lonely
You were too tall for my doorframe and
we were nervous so I loaded a bowl

I could have sworn your eyes were green.




A year +

I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out:

The preoccupation with money, status, beauty, success
The grandiose sense of self-importance
The desire to dominate everything around you
The persistent and needless love bombing
The inability to define our relationship and set boundaries
The reliance on substances to communicate complex emotions
The obsession with revolving aesthetics
The lack of emotional availability despite saying otherwise

You recently said talking to me is akin to
green flag after green flag after green flag

Well it’s 2am Tuesday morning and I have clarity
You’ve only shown me what you want me to see
The distance is the mighty sword you yield
to control my perception of you
the mere thought of me taking that away
is out of the motherfucking question

You’re not scared to love again,
you’re scared to fail at love again
at the hands of your undiagnosed narcissism

I’m committing now to falling out of love with you,
because despite what I’ve said before
this is not the kind of person I want to end up with.