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Dream Life in Paris
Questions explained agreeable preferred strangers too him her son. Set put shyness offices his females him distant.
Questions explained agreeable preferred strangers too him her son. Set put shyness offices his females him distant.
CLUTCH (dry, deep, like he’s narrating a sad Eastern European indie film about loyalty and cheese): I am Clutch. Warrior. Philosopher. Good boy. Back legs? Retired. Not gone—just on break. I slide like a mop with opinions. I hop when inspired. And I am always...
I thought I found my sisternot by blood,but by bond—one of those once-in-a-lifetimeride-or-die“if the world burns, we’ll roast marshmallows together”kind of friendships. She said she loved me.Said I was family.Said she saw me,like really saw me,in the way that makes you stoplooking in the mirrorfor approval. And for a...
I’ve always been the new kidin a school that never lets out.Thirty years late to the lunchroomstill clutching a tray of awkward silenceand a carton of “please like me.” I sit alone,not because I’m a freakbut because the chairs around menever seem to stay full.It’s not...
for the girl who swore she’d never cry, and now cries like it’s a second job.for the girl who wanted to disappear, but keeps leaving claw marks on the exit. There are nights I rehearsethe vanishing act.Not with flair—no spotlight, no crescendo—justa quiet exitlike a sigh...
She died in winter.Gray sky, bone-cold air,a corpse in a hospice bed that finally shut up. And I didn’t cry.Not a single tear, not a whimper,not the shaky breath of a daughterwho lost her mother—because I never had one. I had a warden, a dictator,a queen...
So, uh—Hi.I guess.Wait. No, I meant to say—Uh, actually, let me start over.Shit. Too late.I already fucked it up. And that’s the thing, right?Like, my mouth and my brain? They ain’t exactly best friends.They’re like two drunk dudes in a canoe,both paddling in opposite directions,yelling “BRO, JUST...
The first time I saw you,you weren’t barking,weren’t howling, desperate, begging—you were waiting.Waiting like you already knew.Like you saw something in meno one else ever had. All the other dogs were chaos,but you—you stood on your hind legs,golden eyes burning bright,like a lantern cutting through the...
I’ve pinched the skin I live in, like maybe it would let goif I hated it enough.Newsflash:It didn’t.It stayed.Stretched and soft, wide and wrong—or so they taught me to think.I learned shame like a language.Fluent. Native.Whispered apologies in the dressing room light.Held my breath through every...
I left God on read.One last divine text:“u up?”No, I’m not. I’m tired.Tired of apologizing for the skin You painted me in,the bones You broke and blamed me for.Tired of kneeling with my face in the dirtwhile You sip wine from the chalice of my shameand...
I’m mid-sentence in a story that takes time to tell. I’m still finding the words. The words that get stuck in my throat. The words that are clenched in my fists. I’m telling my story.Sometimes, syllable by syllable—finding strengthin every line. I tap the mic… It...
Just someone who writes poems and stories, trying to make sense of things one word at a time.
Questions explained agreeable preferred strangers too him her son. Set put shyness offices his females him distant.
Just someone who writes poems and stories, trying to make sense of things one word at a time.
