Another day to be a writer

I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable



I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things






I could care less.

It’s been my experience, that one of the worst feelings in the world is disappointing the people you love. I’ve never been the kind of person that says “fuck this” or “fuck you” or “I don’t give a fuck” Instead I’ve always been the kind of person that carries their fucks around in their purse and collects more of them as the day wears on.

You ever meet those people that are just instantaneously likeable? They’ve got a pure energy about them. they’re relentlessly optimistic and kind. I’ve spent most of my life trying to be that person. Maybe kindness isn’t a cool thing to aspire to. Maybe friendliness isn’t a quality that everyone loves. Maybe I could care less about the space I occupy in this world and the people I associate myself with. I’m not a very suspicious person. Instead I give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I like that about me. The people that love me hate this about me.

I’m not careful enough. 

I’m too trusting. 

Not everyone has the same heart as I do.

It’s not like I go all over town by myself and accept candy from strangers, for goodness sake.

I’ve come to understand though, that 90% of the time, the people that love you, ultimately want the best for you. More often than not, these people have more wisdom than you do and it would be wise of you (me) to take heed of their warnings.

I guess I could care less.


This is for that goodbye I didn’t say. 

This is for that one lie I told when I really should have told the truth. 

This is an apology, the one I should have delivered to you on a platter. 

This is the later than late attempt at closure. This is letting go of all the “maybes” and “what ifs” that’s been stuck in my throat all this time. 

This is my well wish. The one that should be on a postcard or billboard. 

This is for the whispered words that passed between us, the ones we buried. This is for the promises we broke. 

This is for you, and the part you played in who I am. And this, this is my goodbye.