Happy Birthday to me! I’m glad I was born, even though this whole life thing totally fucking sucks sometimes-I’m here! I have a plan for what I’m gonna do next. Oh, and I have a book now! The whole heartbroken thing still stinks, but I’m just gonna write it all away…and travel, I want to see it all.


My Book

A suitcase for a dresser,
A moment to catch my breath.
A day to rest
Another to recover.
A semester left,
An idea of who I wanna be,
When I grow up.
A job with no benefits,
A schedule with no sunshine
A vacation from my vacation.
A playlist, on repeat
I think it’s the beats, bass drops
Comfort a wandering mind.
A book, I’ll just self-publish this time.

I’m going to link my poetry book here…next week, I think. Buy it. Please.



the reaping.
goddess of change.
she’s of the harvest
ethereal, elegant in her approach.
depth of sense,
solemn tone,
fragile then leaves.
sustenance, preparations
northern spirit proceeds
bare trees reach toward the sun
when Demeter comes.

next week autumn comes, and so does my birthday…i think i’ll be old then. i love autumn, it’s my favorite season. lots of solstice celebrations with my sister…seems to be a good time to travel north.


I listened to Oliver Hart, from end to start.
I was the first to break gaze with my reflection,
Mirrors work both ways, right?
Wait, that’s roads, it’s a two-way path,
I forget simples things.
Never forget what you mean (to me),
Meant, for the sake of my sanity it’s all past tense.
I mean nothing, twice now…
It’s me,
I Ate Your Soul.
I’m the reason we can’t have nice things.
I made a list of why nobody wants me,
Made the reminders into wallpaper,
Plastered them across my eyelids.
Drew a hot bath and forgot to get in, I think I’m going mad.
I wrote him a letter and pressed send.
I didn’t, but I wanted to.
I placed a stamp in the right hand corner
Sat in front of the Post Office for twenty-four minutes,
Listening to a song called, Octopus, and missed (him).
Thought about
How I used to miss him,
Now I just miss missing him.
Now I don’t miss anyone.
The strangest feeling, it all creeps up.
Inertia, that’s it.
I can’t move (on).
He won’t budge.
A Song About A Friend, (and we can’t even be friends).
I’m the problem, the one who rocks the boat.
Never satisfied, I can’t understand.
Impatient and demanding,
Corner and force a response,
Maybe I just tried to corner a response?
A response, a sign of life…
Love? Smoke signals? A message in a bottle? A note?
A string, attached to your heart?
Some kind of movement,
What Am I To You(?)
I’m nothing, nothing worth loving.
Inertia, that’s it.
It’s all nothing, nothing new.
Broken the same way, a million times,
Breaks out the glue.
Shifted in my seat, waiting for movement,
But nothing…If I just stand here and hold my breath

That’d be silly,
He just doesn’t want me.


Changed his mind about coming back…



My Moment


Fuck today.
Fuck this.
Fuck you.
Fuck sunshine.
Fuck moonlight.
Fuck my broken microscope.
Fuck my lonely telescope.
Fuck overcast nights.
Fuck Chicago.
Fuck subzero.
Fuck cigarettes.
Fuck needing anyone.
Fuck addictions.
Fuck love.
Fuck that.
Fuck off.
Fuck logic.
Fuck life.
Double fuck death.
Fuck cancer.
Fuck bills.
Fuck office politics.
Fuck psychology.
Fuck Needs of Hierarchy.
Fuck distance.
Fuck believing.
Fuck sex.
Fuck sleeping.
Fuck pain pills.
Fuck your mom.
Fuck birthdays.
Fuck funerals.
Fuck black holes.
Fuck a lunar eclipse.
Fuck your promises.
Fuck honesty.
Fuck trust.
Fuck the future.
Fuck, I’m amazing with a compound bow…If I were a single moment I would be the sun slipping below the horizon at dusk. Or the kill shot with a compound…the last breath. I would be anything other than this feeling right now.

I bet tomorrow won’t hurt as bad.


today feels sad…my heart is broken.

what if you could exist in one moment? that’s basically all we are, just these moments; brief, and sometimes unexpected, crisscrossing paths with other moments. then it’s over.

that’s sad.
i love science, i don’t have to feel any of it, it’s just there and it’s fact.

and logic, it’s all need and tidy formats, proofs, premises, a language where content doesn’t even matter.

i just need to feel sad right now. i guess.


i built a wooden box,
buried deep in my chest
underneath my heart and breast
exotic with heavy hinges
never opened
always closed, treasure filled
could be fool’s good.
element, of surprise
something sacred,
for no man’s eyes.
i built a wooden box,
buried it deep in my chest,
filled it full of all that’s mine,
prized possessions
my own obsessions,
could just be fool’s gold.