i love you (not right)

they bought you flowers, chocolates, and gave                               
the normal simplistic love you wanted                              
and they say, i love you                                        
but darling, they never loved you right                              
and never gave you the love you needed.


watching through windows.

there is a girl who lives fifteen minutes from me

she vacations on the jersey shore

she had long hair; now it’s short

she had me; now it’s no longer us

i watch her through windows 

and, i let her live because i think she’s better off without me 


it’s hard not to drown in the bittersweet chocolate and you’re mine sentiments

 she reminds me that this day is more than for men

with a care package, and I wish she was here

so we could spend it together

we could make tea and watch classic noir films

so I nibble at my chocolate and look at my polaroid of heart hands

and smile softly, because we’re galentines after all.

happy valentine’s day. 

lost girls.

dedicated to the three girls who entered my life this year, and have forever changed it. 

we bundled under blankets of compliments
no need for men
addicted to coffee and tea
we talked about the sky, changing the world
books, poetry
we winged our eyeliner
we danced to our favorite indie music
painting watercolors on bedroom floors

and these are my people,
my soul
everything I aspire to be:

one is forever smiling; a gift from heaven itself
the second, punk on edges but soft and filled with whimsy
the third, confident, a radiant beam of light

and these girls, lovely, pure, shimmering
masterpieces, inspire me
I joined the lost girls
and we love our neverland philosophy.

nothing changes, except everything…

you never plan to live your life broken and torn, it just happens,

nothing changes except everything.

and, people are telling you’re not what they expected when they see you after ten years.

you wonder if you should take that offensively, but you just smile and brush it off.

the house you live in has new creaks in the wooden floors, and the windows don’t open as easily. the people around you are more prone to yell, because you’re older.

and, you’re yelling back.

fighting in the dining room; clenching your fists and counting the seconds, one, two, three…

your father, the one who took you for go-cart rides, and bought you a 100-pack of waffles for your birthday, is asking what you were thinking…

your mother, the one who took you to the library and let you have how-ever-many books you wanted, is shaking her head in disapproval.

you drift apart and there’s nothing to do about it, because you aren’t little anymore.  you feel a simple bond, and you try to reach out to save what you had…but it’s not the same.

so, you pack your things. you kiss their cheeks, and say you love them. because, you do, but something hasn’t been right with you for a while.

and, then you’re gone. eighteen years. that’s what they gave you, and you repay them with, goodbyes, frustrations, worries, and hurt.

you wipe the tears as the drip down your face. you let the emotion seep onto the concrete, and eventually it will evaporate into the stars.




no one ever approves,

everyone shakes their head, and gives their reasons,

never listens to yours, doesn’t validate your feelings,

too young. too dumb. too naïve.

blind girl, with your head in the clouds,

snap out of it.

to hell with you, i love the clouds.

and, i swear i will touch the sky one day.

i don’t need your approval.

i have my own.

it took me seventeen years to learn that,

it took me years of fighting for it, and never receiving it,

to realize, i am my own human being. i am not owned.


normal girls.

We were normal girls.

We fell in love with boys, recklessly, hopelessly, and constantly.

She would cry tears of mascara and glittery eyeshadow on the steps. And, we’d swear off them as if they were drugs.

And, maybe they were, because we always found ourselves falling again.

We worried about our bodies. We pinched our fat, and sighed. We skipped breakfast, and then she started skipping more.

It got us nowhere.

And, we had our hopes for a good times in high school, but they should’ve just put a banner over the corridor saying, welcome to hell.

Welcome to trust issues,

to mental issues,

to peer pressure, and boys chasing one thing.

We were just normal girls. Labeled and screwed into our positions of future housewife, goody-two shoes, slut, or whatever they wanted to call us.

We were just normal girls. We stopped wearing glittery eyeshadows and rolled our eyes at a hypocritical society who told us, be what you want, and backstabbed us.

We were just normal girls. Who wanted to wear a dress without getting catcalled. Who didn’t wish for perfection of their bodies, because we were brainwashed with some stereotypical model in their brain since the age of four. Who wanted to be known as more than ‘pretty.’




picket-fence girl.

Picket fence girl.

Board straight, with your heart in a tangle,

your boy is saying he loves you, and you’re happy aren’t you?

you’re high school sweet hearts, stuck in a rut,

thinking this is as good as it gets, optimistically.


You’re marking the days off your calendar,

waiting for date in particular, but knowing someday you’ll get away.

You were grown here, a white picket fenced house,

and you always wanted more than this.


Discouraged, aren’t you picket fence girl?

That boy says he loves you, but doesn’t ask you how you are,

and your high school love that was so sweet, tastes sour now.

You look at the road, and say the city seems awfully far…


That boy is on one knee, a frown set in his face,

asking you to settle down in your own picket fence yard.

It’s like he never listened to your dreams, to your wide-eyes fascination,

and you look in his dead eyes, that you must’ve loved at one point,

and you just nod, yes because this must be as good as it gets.


You stop marking days off the calendar,

and that boy doesn’t even tell you he loves you anymore,

and you’re sitting on your picket fence,

board straight and heart in a twist, wondering

how far the city is again, and there must be something better than this.




you, me, and the beach.

I look over at him, his kakis rolled up, his hair messy and his eyes awash with sleepiness.

He is knee-deep in his socks, wading in the ocean. I’m sitting in the sand, watching the horizon and him acting like a fool.

The beach is lonely without us; no one comes to visit her here in the midnight. The tide is low, and I draw our names in the sand,

you, me, and the beach,

he’s laughing like a child, as he runs in the sand,

I’m playing with the ring on my finger, sliding it off and on,

off and on,

I like it better when it’s on, like a security blanket, like a promise.

Promises. He’s promising me he’s not leaving, and we’re young again.

And, he’s far, far,

far away,

drifting in and out with the tide.

I caught glimpses at times, and I kept up faith. I watched the horizon for him,

waiting, waiting,

for him to show.

He came, and it was like we planned.

It was him, and I, and the beach.


…a short story…












i’ve never quite fit in, i’ve always felt taped into reality from a separate page,

i fill my mind with ideas, ethics, quotes, artwork, culture,

and i enjoy brightly colored sweaters and folk music,

simple things; the smell after it rains, noir movies, and wildflowers.

for some reason, my bed is always unmade and my lips are always chapped.

i am full to the brim of stories of mythical lands, poetry about ocean eyes, and misplaced and eclectic characters.

i am soft. i have always danced around and baked cookies. i have always laughed off my pain. i have always loved rainbows and hugs. i don’t hate anyone; i can’t. i have never been quick to judge, and too quick to love.

my mental illnesses locked me away, and i thought i’d lost that girl forever.

i am withering away. the sun is bright and my soul is weathered, battered, and beaten. it seethes at the thought of me getting better.

i roll my eyes, and wear all black. i say feelings are stupid.

my clothes hang loose on my frame, and i pat some blush on my cheeks.

there is something wrong with this…isn’t there? there’s something wrong with me…still…isn’t there?

i can’t put my finger on it. sometimes, i am the girl full of life. sometimes, i am the girl void of emotion.

and, maybe that is way it will always be now. when you let something in, you can never get rid of it entirely.

and, that’s when i accept…i am happy, and i am sad, and i am every emotion inbetween, and i am none at all simultaneously.