August is the hardest month of the year for me. That’s probably what happens when you lose someone you love in that month. Summers don’t really feel the same, but maybe one day, they’ll feel different.

I make love to myself in my apartment on the couch – you want to hear about that, but not

leaving the sinner’s song at the altar
it’s burning my tongue

My first favorite poet was Shel Silverstein. Then it was Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost, Emily Dickenson, E.E. Cummings, Mary Oliver, Pablo Neruda, Charles Bukowski—you know, the usual.

I am a parent. a mother they say. but I don’t feel that way because I was raised with parents who

I want to marry you in yellow. white has never been my color anyway

let the breath settle in your lungs and

the first place I look is the palm of your hand / the mount under Mercury / the one that holds the healer’s mark

they always ask why why did you leave give me all the reasons and then they try and tell me all the reasons I should have changed to stay

god is coming home soon / be ready / be better / he’s always watching
I’ve lived half my life afraid of dying

this morning I woke up to the moon and the sky was pink and purple and blue

show me the ones who made you feel like you were hard to love