I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like someone has taken a cookie cutter to me, The ones with the ripple edges always looked sharper somehow. Hope has left a hole in me, punched straight through by my own soft palm. I wish I could be someone you want: the picture of us I’ve painted was growing faint at the edges. I…
They say you come back taller
when you return from space.
Limbs stretched to impossible lengths
naturally stretching you
into something new.
I think maybe that is what this is like:
I feel ten feet tall if you're near me
and my hands
stretch in just one
There is a tightness
right here. Feel your feelings, don’t internalize them. Don’t intellectualize them. I hate this advice. If the call is coming from inside the house, then I need to know where. I don’t want to be out here like Drew Berrymore in Scream or something. When I feel anxious, as I do…
Who do you think you are?
Mr. Big Stuff… I find myself asking myself this question. Just who the fuck do I think I am doing all of this? Having a debut, solo installation, an art opening, and friends who support me, it feels strange and awfully unearned. Even though I know that’s not a kind…