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I pretty much adore you. Thanks, lovely.

commerrrs

There is a difference between stylistic choices and ignorance. Stylistic choices are when someone understands the rules of something and consciously decides to do something in another way. This is ...

Broaden yourself. This isn't a poem, this is something that people put on a little thing of plaster and hang in their kitchen walls when they don't know what else ...

dark blue, lol.

Way to totally kill my soul with jealousy. You are excellent, love. This might get an actual review from me later, if I don't suffocate under my piles of papers. ...

Failing hardcore at writing. This is a genuine memory for me, which always muddles my writing, even disregarding the fact that it's prose. I eat apple cores. I always have, ...

I am from loneliness. I am from a mistaken motherhood, a child broken to splintered stars in each pupil. I pierce the ends of her fingers like a needle, sew ...

you are a bathroom mirror ghost, steam lunged and open mouthed, wondering where all the years went, how many lovers are carved into the lines of my face. you linger ...

something inconsequential paws at the rivered bones in your throat-- you choke on it. it trips your tongue and lies across your language, languid, sprawled, creek boned and watery. you ...

You sweep small splintered palms across Milky Way dust. They are dark and cratered, coated in things unseen, bright pollutants, little words like “I always thought they were planes.”

the yellows of the eggs are eyes, staring wide as they are whisked and flipped into another home. flour blooms scattered white petals on the sides of wood like homespun ...

I need you hopeless-- cold blood color careens beneath the reach of light, somewhere tip-toeing underground like a sightless mole with shovelled paws; still-- still, they said, still as a ...

i. she needs me to tell her she's beautiful because he won't. I can't lie. she is beautiful-- her legs slope like elms and her shoulders turn into bell jars ...

rusting skin in the shower; she forgets what she looks like and startles in the mirror, wide eyed, sleepless and pouched. scraping the rust away, she examines its dullness in ...