If I curl small enough in this chair,

I’ll disappear.

At least,

I hoped so.

Knees hitched high I

Laid my head on top

It’s stylish, low back.

People who don’t have to pay for their chairs

In 24 installments,

Probably don’t cry in them


My phone is a useless rolodex of nice people.

Tell me I’m an inconvenience,

To match the voice in my head,

To match the drapes,

The dishes,

The self deprecation disguised as coping.

I use a paper towel to keep my tears from staining the fabric.

Even here,

My vulnerability isn’t welcome.



A moment of your time.
We may never find broken down brunch spots,
or a place to eat noodles,
in the same booth,
of course.

And we might never,
listen to the silence of summer,
fruit juice on our hands,
slightly touching,
slightly touching,

Perfect isn’t a good promise,
when there are other’s
so much

Like promising to hike when it’s warm,
To bring the coffee,
to the bed.
To relax a little more,
and to cry,
Like I mean it.

And we might never,
be this way again.

It’s like one of the bulbs in the string,
has gone out.
We still shine,
until it’s time to coil up,
and sit on top
of the shelf.