Although I usually enjoy the thrill of a cheap insult, I know that Nikolai du Romanet is at my ball to assassinate me, and so I've decided that I won't grant him the satisfaction of small talk before he does.
"Your words usually wound me deeply." Nikolai pulls my closer by the small of my back to whisper into my ear as we waltz around the room, enveloped in a flurry of pinks, whites, and yellows a...
The opening bars of a DNCE song, and all of a sudden, I'm thirteen, and I am in the small, grey Mini Cooper of my childhood summers with my grandmother, still alive. For once, her excitable poodle mix – and my self-proclaimed best friend – Hendrix is not next to me in the back of the car. Instead, my grandmother, my parents, and I are all dressed in black from head-to-toe as we head towards the fu...
my mother calls me a poet but the truth is,
i only ever write poetry when i'm not quite awake,
i dream in spoken-word poetry, stand before doors
& when i wake up, i cannot remember
whether it represents the beginning of something new or the end of something old.
i read kafka before bed & wonder if my father hating me would have made me a better writer,
or if it simply would have made me cockroa...