questa vita

and this is what I pray for you to a God who has done the same for me time & time again the pain that leaves fresh cuts, scars that open up over and over, skin separating, blood blossoms forth turns crimson mixing with the air & it scars over time & time again and this what I pray for you to a God who has done the same for me I will never stop breaking my knees as they crash to the ground and I will never stop hiding my face in a cage of flesh and bones, blood and veins I will never stop grappling for air to kiss my lungs because I was not meant for this world and it kills me, time & time again. every once in a while I feel my flame dwindling. and I pray that if you ever feel this way hopeless alone  that my Elah comes back to you, every time just like he's done for me. I pray that he lifts you back up heals your broken bones sews together your split lip gives you breath again.

            “I’m sorry, we’re out of that,” the clerk said dismissively to me, her heavily lidded eyes not meeting mine. Automatically, I thought, “lie!” and was startled by the intensity of the feeling. I shook my head a little bit and followed the truck stop diner looking lady down the candy aisle.             “Wait, please could you check the back? This corner store is the only place that carries that brand and scent of lotion.” The woman grunted but made her way to the back room. The lotion was Tinsley honey oat, and it was all that her mother used to use. It had been 5 years since her mother had died in a car accident. She wasn’t sick or old. Just unlucky. Ever since then, I had stopped by this corner store (not exactly accurate- it was completely out of my way) once every 2 weeks to buy more of it. My mother’s house was down the block from here, a spacious brick townhouse on West Rose. She...

if only you knew what i knew i want to levitate out of here. toe tips, leaving ground, air catching on a stitch in my chest like a rogue thread in my sweater, catching the loose skin on my finger i want to levitate out of my mind for just one day i'd go to somewhere that doesn't have a name and i'd lose my name and nobody would know me and nobody would have any of their loose stitches attached to me. the makeshift cage of strings they've created around me would stretch and stretch as i go higher and higher and snap and i'm free

out in the center line cars passing by on either side nobody is looking at you. nobody sees you peeling back your layers peeling and tearing at your skin until your stomach is a gaping hole, the white hot energy coursing into the different channels in your body your veins frayed, nerve endings jagged like wires ivory cage struggling to keep it all in you pull off different parts of yourself until you're too fragile and you scatter them all across the pavement ashes raining down like confetti, catching in the wind, feathers nobody is looking at you as your knees become one with the ground with a crack, splintering your bones blood trickles in strings and you're desperate for them to see, screaming at them to see and simultaneously hiding behind your fingers so they can't so they can't see what you're doing to yourself what would they think?

Standing at the end of Summer, at the edge of the universe. Toes sinking, grainy earth, warm foam bathing in between. Heliotrope clouds rolling, electric energy. Never ending possibilities of creatures unseen, Under the surface of this underwater rapture. Warm, teeming with a vast existence of beasts unknown. Standing at the edge of the universe, only touching the tip of this whole world beneath us. Wondering what’s there. Contemplating what comes after the end of Summer.

            “Alex, I know, I-“ Bri tried, but he cut her off.             “No. You don’t trust people, Bri. This same thing happened with your mom. You didn’t trust her enough to tell her that you even applied here. It’s patronizing of you to assume that nobody can handle anything except for you.” He said, and her faced burned with embarrassment. He was right. Again. He was always right.             “Alex,” she cried. He shook his head, gathering his wallet, phone, and keys off the nightstand. He dug in his pocket and retrieved a little black velvet box.             “I was going to give this to you tonight. It’s a promise ring,” he said, looking down at the box, considering it. Bri felt like she was going to throw up. How could this night have turned into this?    ...

This is a short excerpt from a story that I've been working on for about ten years :) The next day, Bri’s phone was still cracked and her knee still hurt. But it was the day. Bri felt it in her bones as she stretched awake at the usual noon. She had been looking online, trying to figure out when the acceptance/rejection letters from South Naples Prep School would go out, and it looked like it was this week. It was already Friday, so…             She pulled on some Victoria’s Secret sweats and a tee that were both nestled on her floor and then bounced down the stairs, not bothering to get shoes as she strode out the front door. There was a huge oak towering over her driveway, with Spanish moss swaying from its branches, so the asphalt wasn’t hot on her bare feet. She reached their mailbox, which was red with daisies painted on it, and held her breath as she opened it. She didn’t even go back inside as she searched for her ...

Bon Jovi's livin on a prayer seems to be my theme song right now. At work, we have these group chats where we can go and let off steam. There have been some hour cuts lately, even for full time employees, and some people have had to use paid time off in order to pay their rent. Times are tough right now, everywhere obviously and not just at my job. It seems like everyone has to buckle down and try to just make it right now. And these are hardworking people- my job's pretty stressful at times you know? Dealing with people all day and the like. I have some stories from this job and from all my restaurant jobs that I honestly just cannot make up. I will probably compile those into a book one day, and people can marvel at humanity But our group chats are like support groups. It's bad but I'm honestly glad I'm not the only one. I'm also not complaining, because I'm super blessed in so many ways which I acknowledge. I'm just saying, it is what it is. But pe...