he is in awe of my jump rope skills

i can go criss-cross and backwards

doesn’t matter

i want to tell him

you can’t put that on a resume


Love Story in Three Stanzas


He once drove five hours in the rain

He busted the tire and spilled the champagne

Her palms were cold and sweaty

Her skirt felt just too tight

But she got the job and she was ready

When he arrived there that night


She kissed him before he could make a sound

His hand opened up, the ring fell to the ground

Five years later, she’s made a list

Of potential boy and girl baby names

And when he walks in, she can’t resist

She tells him and smiles when he exclaims


“Oh I know – how about Ellie?”

He says, pulling her back to look at her belly

Ellie it was, and she was perfect

When 9 months later she came

And he thought to himself that it was worth it

Driving those five hours in the rain

(for my stretch marks)

(for my stretch marks)


i’ve got badass lightning strikes on my thighs

did i ever tell you?

well i do

i’ve got crooked knees and

blurred vision

ears that could use cleaning

tiny wrists and a scar on my thumb

the occasional gray hair

acne scars and a chipped tooth

all of which are beautifully me

but my favorite – easily –

are the badass


white lines

that decorate my thighs

i wear my stripes

like a fucking warrior

What more is there to write about?

Write more about me, he urges

A fury deep within her surges

She yells out

What more is there to write about?


He fought and lost and savagely slurred

She used up all her lovely words

She cries when she can no longer shout

What more is there to write about?


His promises turn to vapor

She refuses to put pen to paper

In fear of the truth leaking out

Something she can’t write about


She sometimes loves him when she’s sleeping

And dreams that there’s no secret-keeping

Her morning coffee tastes of doubt

What more is there to write about?

a 2 hour moment

Image result for happy while dancing artistic photo



We dance on the wet grass like the losers we are

shoes piled up by the speakers

I’ve lost the upper register of my voice

and whatever makeup I had put on

to the singing and the sweating

but oh boy is it worth it

my feet are covered in dew

my hair is coming out and

tendrils cling to my face

it smells faintly of B.O. and my knee is aching

but oh boy is it worth it

sing, swing, cling, throw a few screams out

and a high kick if you’re feeling it

laughter echoes above the music



We trudge inside like the losers we are

but that night I sleep with a smile