- I cried, too. You just couldn’t see me.
- Being brazenly proud of your Internet history should have been a warning flag.
- It’s awful that I can only sum up the entire contents of your heart into that moment you pressed a cold wash cloth against my head when my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding.
- I used to press my head against your car window, wishing you were anyone but you.
- You are my best friend, and I can’t wait to high five your face in heaven.
- You should stop talking so much so I don’t have to be sad for everyone’s ears.
- You taught me all the worst parts of myself and it only made me see the best in you.
- I wanted to be you when I grew up, but only if you would have grown up, too.
- I am not evil. You aren’t either. Let’s just leave it at that.
- It’s okay. I understand now.
- Wishing it away is like swallowing your own tongue.
- I stopped writing because the words began to break and fall apart and when I tried to pick one up, it bit my hand and called me a fraud.
- You are a whirling dervish on acid.
- It wasn’t fair of me. Not a single moment of it.
- I never wanted to be you. Not really. I just wanted, just one time, for you to want to be me.
- Don’t be me. Don’t ever be me.
- Unless you want to. I don’t blame you. I have nice ankles.
- But seriously, guard your heart, your loins and every tissuey organ that has the potential to give you grief. And when you do give them away, be prepared to never ask for them back.
- I loved you all the most. And perhaps that was my vilest sin.
- One more high five, best friend.
- Okay. I’m ready.
When we were on
I saw our lives
Like a flash bulb
Great hands nowhere
To be seen.
Your scream was
Set to the tune of
My angry fingers
Seeking revenge on
A wheel that could
Rip us infinite,
Scraps of metal
Like a beautiful cosmos
Built by no maker.
“Take her away” was
Written on my mind.
But I ask you now,
Who else was there
Elbowing out that inky
And its silk-strung voice
And the bursting nebula
That lit my pupils
Like your smile
Lights my heart?
I’m working on revisions for Unkept which is a lot like carefully removing my heart with a scalpel just to watch it beat.
It’s like going back in time, reworking history, rethinking all of the things I want to say and finding new ways to say them.
It’s a puzzle, a mystery, a million little paper cuts delivered every time I hit a key. It’s opening old wounds and crafting fresh ones and bleeding until my insides are shriveled dry.
It’s a painful act, remolding words. It’s painful because there’s a mirror there reflecting your paper cut hand, your heart in your palm.
The hardest thing in the world is remembering not to squeeze too tightly.