RAINCOAT 

It’s a strange feeling, really. Your initial reaction is to cry. No, that’s not right. You wait for him to leave, you order a pizza, you turn on some Joni Mitchell, then you cry. You crawl into bed and cry between the wrinkled sheets. You can’t quite pinpoint why you’re crying so excessively but the tears are flowing, and you let them because this is what a breakup is supposed to look like. You’re supposed to be sad. Devastated. Depressed. Irrational. So you cry until your ey

Relationships have songs. Whether it’s a song that tells the tale of your last fucked up relationship or that album that reminds you of how much you love someone or even the only playlist you could listen to while crying in your bed late at night. These intimate moments with songs create a personal and often private soundtrack to our lives. My soundtrack is predominately painful; relationships have ruined so many albums for me. Part of this has to do with how my relations

When the apocalypse comes and hell freezes over; when Americans decide that Hallmark cards are bile; when gender norms shatter into pieces; when artificial sweeteners are banned and destroyed; when human beings finally get to a point where we, as a species, feel comfortable expressing love to one another, regularly, meaningfully, with or without grand gestures, with or without partners, with or without words; I will still be championing Valentine’s day, lounging on a bed of r

Rarely does nature show us a perfect angle Patterns can be found nestled in shells or the centers of flowers, But it's rare for a flesh-and-blood creature to know the sharpness of a perfect triangle in branches or an array of stones. Most things in human life are knobbed and gnarled, dirt floors, tangled hair, vestiges of bodily imperfections past. You were my perfect triangle, the first I'd ever seen an anatomical anomaly: a harmony of beautiful angles gleaming violet and ta

One October I anticipated for the first time falling in love after too many days of loving men after manufactured, cliché nights in backseats front seats of cars sweaty, thinking I was sure limbs entangling hard, too hard fingernails etching his name into me unrelenting me, positioned there until her fingertips traced explanations skin they touched ached with certainty. #poetry #love