if sacrifice had a face people say grief comes in waves. mine feels more like a tide that never fully goes out. it just shifts, rearranges the shoreline, leaves evidence everywhere. my mom was the definition of come from nothing and no one. no safety net. no silver spoon. no gentle landing. just a girl
american side streets there’s comfort in being an outsider in america passenger seat living, window cracked, music louder than the fear i don’t belong to clean, sunlit things, i belong to the after parking lots, cigarette breaks, late night glow making everyone honest i used to think i was broken for
Featured this island won’t let me leave ever since i was a little girl i’ve wanted to run as far away as i could. i never really fit here, not in the neat, beach town way, not in the knowing everyone, same faces, same stories sense. cape cod smells like salt and regret and overpriced lobster
favorite characters are never about taste her type burns without trying. probably thinks it’s romantic, it’s not. she does good. then bad, then good again. like a reflex; like caffeine, like me. sometimes ruins, laughs at herself; maybe laughs at me too. bosses up, owns a business, loses it. rinse; repeat. i watch; i
no dad; no touchdowns i write this on a tuesday that smells faintly of burnt toast and the snowstorm that refused to stop last night. my apartment is big and open, but bare. so white it almost hurts to look at. i keep thinking about what could go on the walls. maybe a poster.
