Try as I might
I've never managed to finish a love poem
Started
Stopped
Scrapped midway
Turned into a murder ballad
Words about lust
Or loss
But started and finished
With
And in
Love?
Never.
There shouldn't be
The end
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Yesterday my mother showed up at my door with 13 handcrafted birthday invitations in one hand and 1.75 liters of vodka in the other. The two are mostly unrelated. The invites are made from paper and glitter. Stamp and ink. She didn't write in them, but provided
As I sit quietly in my living room working I tend to listen to the sounds of home. The slight buzz and hum of my heater, the birds chirping and chattering from my high windows, the rush of cars on the street outside, and the constant chirps, pings, and trills
I remember putting some crazy things in my hair as a kid. Lemon juice, kool-aid, mayonnaise, avocado, tea, and that scalding hot oil treatment. With that last one I might as well been torturing myself with tar and feathers. Then there was the one summer I strived to find the