There’s a bottle of black nail polish collecting dust above my dresser

The bottle is stout and plain

It was only used once

Foolishly I spent last summer

Repainting every nail

Until they all fell off

The day after tomorrow is your birthday

I ought to have known

I remember it falling on a rainy Wednesday last year

I lay on astroturf

And wondered if I’d ever see you again

The last bit of polish la...

Here is a book. Talk to it. Tell it the secret your sister made you swear you’d keep. Tell it about the line for coffee at the cafe this morning.

When he lies, shake your head. When he’s kind, bat your eyes. Laugh at the jokes, even when they’re not funny.

It’s okay that you got it wrong. Try again. You are not a failure. Don’t you ever let them think that.

You will grow with time and care. Trea...

The stars splatter the sky like they were born to take your breath away

I often wonder if it’s all some sort of cruel joke

Driving into the sunset

Thinking about how if the sun was to explode

The first thing we’d do is whip out our cameras to capture its beauty

A year and a little has gone by

I keep you locked up still

I’m too stubborn, my mother likes to tell me

I’d like to imagine my therapist ...

Did you know ‘Gone With the Wind’ is the highest grossing movie of all time?

It supposedly popularized colored film

A friend of mine recently told me she wanted to be a film colorist when she was younger

I used to want to be a gymnast

Until I quit in fourth grade

It is those moments I often return to

Saccharine-tinted clips

Not necessarily placed in a correct order

Sitting along the dock of a s...

In the morning I become a bear

My outfits vary, but I have yet to retire the scuffed pair of black Blundstones my mother handed down to me

Her feet are too small and mine are just a little too big

I’m blistering all over

And I want to go home

I’ve been trying to make progress on a book my first-cousin-once-removed gifted to me

It’s a collection of selected poems and commentary on Emily Dickinson...

I’ve tried to encapsulate

In any way good enough for you

The fat pimple

I grew on a smooth sea of sweat

But I still cannot provide

Proper justification for myself

As to why I marched up

To the tattoo artist on East 18th street

And asked for double-knotted shoelaces

Just above my elbow

When the ink was overdone

The swelling began

And I became a large balloon

Afloat in the air

Rich in its affluents...