0

selfies.

I take a lot of selfies and post a lot of shit on Facebook and Instagram because I crave connection and some days, well fuck, I do want attention. I want to know that my presence was felt in the world. No one takes pictures of you when you’re alone, so you do it yourself and say “hey world, still fucking here” or “hey guys, shit sucks actually” or whatever it is you need to share. For as much as social media fucks with connection, it’s also a way to break up some of that loneliness. So if you’re out there posting selfies and looking for someone to see you, you’re not alone. You are brave and you are fierce.

0

thirty.

she was gone by the time i was four,
then there were others,
that came and said, i will be your mother
but they forgot me when they put
their mother-daughter outings on the calendar.
almost good enough, but not quite enough
to get an invitation to the beach
or the shopping or coffee to talk about the day.
good enough for advice, but
not quite good enough for time.
this should have faded by now,
this feeling of being forgotten,
you’d think by thirty you’d be finished”
with childish things like belonging
and motherly love and girls nights.
but here i am, writing some shitty poem
about what it feels like to see your
sister and her mother travel to the beach
and share jokes and shopping and time,
while you sit on a couch, wishing you had a mother.
she was gone by the time i was four.

0

ghost

even the chaos doesn’t distract me enough,
a hundred thousand questions can’t stop me
from torturing myself.
i wanted you.
i wanted you in the way that an addict
wants that hit of whatever gets them
the heaven they think they want.
i wanted to bury myself inside of you,
burrow right into your soul.
i wanted to see what made you,
the good, the bad, the things you hide.
i guess,
in a way,
i did see all that shit.
the light, the dark, the depth,
just, that’s all i could get.
just a view in from the outside,
i hope you are well,
and i hope that you really are as beautiful
as i made you out to be,
inevitably, i’ll think of you,
this isn’t goodbye,
it’s not a see you later,
it’s a graveyard epitaph,
for a living ghost.