smaller.

if there were a choice i’d be scarred
and unpretty, you could
not hold it against me that i
wear mascara

we broke it off on the porch in
mid-august, over raccoon eyes, my
pigtails, that i’d been drinking beer
with my friends,
my oversized sweatshirt,
my lack of a bra

you smudge eyeliner off with the
back of your hand, play
finders keepers with
me even
now

i guess i am smaller than
you are in more ways than one

late.

napowrimo #2

up too late in a one
room apartment, you flick
dying skin and bite for my veins,

your toenails
digging lines into my
hardwood floors. you ask
me to imagine being swept
up by sand, our linked fingers
torn, our throats filling. i tell you
no and
our pupils contract.

mine, yours.
we do not fall
asleep by the light of the lamp.

home (office).

20140216-224356.jpgorganizing my office can be
the best part of the day.
i hide bits of glamour
behind the sheets of
coloured cardstock
& the decoupage.

i find where i can fit you in
and let yourself expose
you. i breathe and i
pretend i don’t
need cigarettes.

i breathe and i
pretend i’m not
nostalgic for the year before.