So let me try this: I wanted just to say that I homed your fuckshit in my belly so long that I have fertilized a field and they are some of the most vibrant colors. They could be weeds. And facts: even weeds are useful sometimes.
Category: grieving
Today I remembered that you are dead
It wasn't remembering at all but realizing--probably that's what I was doing, you know, that you are dead, and it felt like chewing foil
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Belonging
I don’t think there is anyone who doesn’t want to belong to something or somebody. Not ownership belong to but be a part of belong to. Even me. I say even me because I’m a natural, albeit ironic, loner. Ironic because I’m a twin and we make two of five sisters. Ironic still because there [...]
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Without Rock or Shore
I've been trying to ignore the tug in my gut that has persisted since I first read about this story yesterday. It was the stark inhumanity of it for sure; the sheer violence; the unchecked toxic masculinity; the questions about how is it that the ability to find a jersey is easier than locating a publicly; pinging-off-cell-phone-towers [...]
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What can we tell them?
Can we give them our stories
without curling their backs into it, yellowed pages crisp and crumbling like
sepia snow into piles we sweep from in front of
our bookshelves?
Will we love them
only; wait and watch them
turn to men who fail themselves
for want of recognition?
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Daydream Sequence #9: Things That Scare Me
And you looked to me
covering myself in the crowd
of a house party
I reluctantly attended
wanting to believe me.
darlene anita scott 