i listen to shitty music when i try to write — i know this;i can admit this,i…
A poem
4 am. My waking witching hour. Melting into my self-skin again. Pungent repetition molds into a you-shaped…
I have never stood on a surfboard
yet I have slipped and balanced
I’ll play Barbie you play KenTill we’re in for dinner The dolls melting on the hoodMelding with each otherAll day becoming one with the…
naked feet in the sunstretched out in front of me: