A Year of Scattered Writing

Collected and edited from the notes on my phone


I let my eyes wander to the top left corner of the page to see if the sun had yet reached my pool chair. It was 12:15pm and the chair to the left of me was now fully bathed in light. It was my turn next and I’d been waiting since 10am. A cloud stood in front of the sun briefly to remind me that nothing is promised.

I saw a girl holding her breath while she drove alone and I wonder if her motivation was similar to when I walk down the street with my eyes closed.

Jacuzzi tubs and shower curtain liners
He showed me, but I taught you.

You’re gone for now,
or for good,
or, I’m gone for the night,
or for the time being.

Drinking alone at bars, can’t process emotions on my own. We’re both blind and I’m dangerous. Walking streets with noise canceling headphones, face buried in phone. No notice of walk/stop signs. 
What I’ve learned is whatever happens happens cause I have no plan to make any actions of my own.


You know that I love you.
You maybe don’t know I’m in love with you.
It’s not your fault,
But it’s also okay for me to feel this way.
And I feel sad,
Sad to lose you.
Even when I told myself never to take you,
I was afraid;
But I should’ve been more afraid of this.


Making choices unlike my own
I was tired of the dull tones
And now I smile at dogs on the street again
Hands cold
Bag twisting cutting off circulation of my right arm
Forget to check if the light has changed
Carefully stepping around the battlefield of cheese balls lost on the floor
They won’t be cleaned up, this is where they belong
Forgot my toothbrush, cover the taste with coffee
Today I collapsed in the street for 5 dollars.


Sometimes you’ll be listening to Edith Piaf sitting alone on the steps of the subway. You’ll think, how could he pass you up. You are air. You are art. You are fucking sex. You are it.
And some woman with a navy beanie and navy socks will push through the scene you’ve curated for yourself and she’ll shuffle her feet and ruin the composition, and distract you.
You’ll take a deep breath and dream back to him, to how the party dissolved around you and still he said, with you the only guest left, “Do you need help finding the train?”
“No I’m alright. I’m tweeting. I’m on my way to find home soon.”
“Au’ revoire.”
“De rien”
You spoke to yourself, he had already retired to his bed.
He no longer exists for you.

I had never shed a tear on public transit before.
And to ‘L’homme à la moto’ to boot.
Why not me? Why at all?
For years no one had caught my eye.
But he had made me think, and look.
Look at what I want.
Someone who sees me.
Sees more than me.
Sees what I could be.
Not less than me.
Not what they want me to be.
An object.
A toy.
But this is just what I wanted him to be.
Someone who saw me.
Saw what I could be.

So I took his words and his actions, not for what they were, but for what I wanted them to be.
I shaped a world where I was no object, no toy. A woman; desired.
It gave me confidence when I wasn’t near him, but if he was close,
My narrative would crumble.
Distance made my heart grow for something that never was.
To them, I will always be an object. To me, they will never be enough.


A symptom of my unnamed disease is that I can either experience no excitement, or, when the day that I’ve waited for comes, I let it pass without experiencing it fully. 
I’ll notice that the time has come, but my heart is never in it as I anticipated it would be.


My brain is eating itself to keep me alive. I’m losing memories and motor function.
I take shallow breaths to avoid the fumes and also because deep breaths make my back spasm. Can anyone see me? Do I want them to, when I’m hiding here in the muck?


I was thinking about how perfectly my kneecap might fit in a dog’s mouth.
Just the right height
Just the right size
It happened
It didn’t even hurt. The owner led it away, 
my round bone nestled just so in its jowls.
Do you not even know how to form the words?
Iym sohrie
Iam soahrey
You’ve turned the block. One leg unable to bend, stiff, I limp the other way.