it’s been a long month.

the girl pays for her coffee with quarters,

her trembling hands grasping for another cup,

alone, she sits.

the seat across is empty, someone once sat there

the coffee runs down her throat, and warms her heartless body.

it’s been a long month.


the breath is knocked out of her,

as she watches couples hold hands

a tear escapes, and she scolds herself

too attached; she got too attached

she shoves the emotions away

it’s been a long month.


dear someone, she writes in her journal

why am I alive?

because, all I do is disappoint

and I break beautiful things

I wonder if there a point to this pain?

it’s been a long month.


and, the seconds creep by

slowly, the days muddle into night

she tells the moon about her failings

slowly, the nights drift into day

and she plods along whispering as an excuse,

it’s been a long month.





past tense.

The Neighbourhood came out with an EP,

and I thought of you…the days we would sit in your brother’s Subaru, and sing the lyrics to The Beach.

You’re right…I’m abrasive, cold, and suppress emotions. I don’t want to hurt the people around me. I don’t want to disappoint.

When you wrote it though, I cried. I just realized how you actually saw me. And, I know you saw how I actually saw you through my words.

Maybe, we were spiteful. Or, maybe we meant it. I can’t tell if I did or not, and that’s why I haven’t called.

I’m sorry. Because, I miss you but I know I screwed up, and that our friendship is a thing of the past.

It’s hard using past tense. Was and were are such devastating words.

Maybe, we can visit present tense one day. If that’s alright with you…


anne & diane

I want to go back to when we were kids,

drunk on sunshine and sugar

rhyming poetry, because we were novices and thought poetry had to rhyme.

Linking arms; never separated for too long.

Anne and Diane.

We took the world, and made it our own.


Now you’re off on the west coast–

where I always thought you belonged–

but since you left, there’s a hole in my heart

and it grows every day.


No one corrects my grammar,

reads my stories,

listens to the chaos of my life,

shares milkshakes with me,

reads the same books as me,

shows me an amazing new song,

shares a twin bed with me,

holds me when I’m crying on the church floor.

Only you.











I cry out my frustration; trying not to break the mirror in front of me.


I panic at night, and know I don’t deserve trust anymore.

Terrible influence.

I compartmentalize my personality, so I can’t ruin anyone else.

Bad, bad, bad.

I throw up, unable to take it anymore. The feeling washes down the toilet, and I know it’ll be back soon.

The feeling of hatred. I hate her. The girl I am.

No one believes I’m going to try to change. Or, how much I cry…hot, messy tears about how I’ve screwed up.

Does life ever get better? Do people understand mistakes? Do you see I’m struggling to get by?

Guilt gnaws at my bones.

And, all I can say is I’m trying, and that I’m sorry for the girl I’ve become.

So, so sorry.







I am the girl who calculates the risks,
who writes poetry about life,
who sips her tea and tries to
decide if she even has a future.
I am a
flight risk, with a fear of failing.
fear of falling
in love
I hate change,
you came along with your
mischievous ocean eyes,
musical soul,
and spindly hands
and told me
could knock the breath out of you

now, I write poetry for you,
I sip my tea and dream
of you
(boy, with the calm persona)
and, maybe this time I won’t have to run
or bury it away, because I
romanticize and I become overly jealous at times
because, you’ve taught me
change is beautiful



i am a ghost as i walk through

my room and see a little girl

she cries, and no one knows why

but i do…


i pick her up

and wipe the matted hair from her face

i tell her no more tears

as i wipe the ones swelling in my own eyes


we drive for ice cream

and i play the speak now album

she sings quietly; she knows all the lyrics

but so do i…


i snuggle her in blankets

and turn on her favorite movies

i never let her go

and she clings to me tightly


i tell her,

it gets better from here

but she can’t hear me;

she’ll still grow up to be me…