things i’m sorry for

i’m sorry i stayed up until 2 last night watching MTV instead of sleeping

i’m sorry i said my mom was a bad parent for not calling

i’m sorry i cried after she did

i’m sorry i talk with my hands too much during interviews

i’m sorry i talk too much

i’m sorry i sometimes dislike my friends for being happy

i’m sorry i don’t understand W-4s and direct deposit forms

i’m sorry i don’t know how to use concealer and i don’t own a blazer or dress pants or a car

i’m sorry i think my life would somehow be better if i did

i’m sorry that i talk more about reading than i actually do read

i’m sorry that i’m 18 and i wiped my booger on the wall

i’m sorry i lied

i’m sorry i’m not actually sorry about that

i’m sorry that i glanced at the clock only during your parts of our conversation

i can tell you that coffee isn’t an adequate substitute for sleep

and the Beatles’ last album was Abbey Road

but we still won’t win at trivia

i stole a pen yesterday

i’m sorry about that


Nice (I am not a dictionary definition)



The chameleon of a word, shedding connotations like a snake sheds his skin,

the word that haunts me, defines me, good and bad in the mouths of peers,

they let it slide out like warm butter

or spit it out bitterly, watching as it smacks me in the face, gross and wet


For the longest time, I presented my opinions in a way that made it seem like they weren’t mine,

like a waiter offering up a platter

Here you are, sir. I hope it’s to your liking.

I handed them over already cheapened, diminishing their value firsthand, a half-hearted sale of a used car that was my treasure but another man’s junk

I was never strong or firm.

I was scared.

Diplomatic. Reasonable. Polite. Timid. Self-Deprecating.


I let that word back me into a corner, definitions chained to my hands and a permanent marker smile drawn on my face.


I am not a dictionary definition.

I am nice but

I am not weak and

I am not boring and

I am not unimportant and I am allowed to have opinions and I am allowed to be sarcastic and I am allowed to be smart and if you are rude to me, then I am allowed to be rude back and I am allowed to kick your sorry little ass with the infinite number of comebacks I have invented and filed away for the future while I was busy being quiet and


I do not need your permission to be human.

I have every right to be infuriated and despondent and moody and thrilled and sometimes I go berserk and have dance parties in my room and

I don’t care if I’ve grown up in a society that teaches girls to deny compliments and to never celebrate their beauty or passion

for fear of being labeled conceited or full of themselves

Listen –

I AM full of myself.

Full of everything that makes me who I am.

Maybe it’s time I started wearing nice like a badge and not a noose.

I’m writing a letter to myself.

Dear Me,

I’ve decided that I love you.

Sorry I waited so long to tell you.

There is Room in This World

girl in rain
There is room in this world for your strange, dark secrets
The ones that you store in your head
The ones that you rock back and forth like a baby
The ones that emerge when you’re lying in bed
There is room in this world for your irrational hopes
The ones that support your spine
The ones that you throw into fountains and oceans
The ones that keep sane your mind
There is room in the world for your hoarded truths
The ones that all crowd in your brain
The ones that you throw at the walls and the roof
The ones that you cling to in vain
There is room in this world for your hurting fears
The ones that swoop down from the sky
The ones that walk you on a leash
The ones that make you choke and cry
There is room in this world for your baggage
The hearts that you have earned and won
The stories you scrawl down on paper
There is room in this world for every one

The Lonely Poem

This is the poem that hides
in the corner of the classroom
that weeps silently, but does not cry
because being invisible hurts
because asking to be seen hurts more

And when loneliness
washes you out to the middle of the sea
this is the poem that waits for you
underneath the vivid coral and striking starfish

As you sink down into the darkness
to keep you company at rock bottom

Until you begin to see the stars again

A Recipe For Me

This post it a response to:

It’s a poem/recipe that tells you how to make me…but not really. It was really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy.


A Recipe For Me

A recipe for me?


Talk about a recipe for disaster.

But, very well, since you asked. (You might want to get out a pencil.)

Let’s see…where would I start….ah, I know.

To begin, you’ll need a spoon,

A hollow book, a knife

And a whole lot of patience.

Patience! Oh yes, that should be the first ingredient.

Makes for a wonderful foundation, it does.

Oh no, wait, I almost forget. I’m making me.

Start with love. Roll it into a little ball, nice and hard.

How much? Oh, I don’t know.

With me, things are never as exact as I wish them to be.

Now, around that little ball, just jab in a few choice words

Oh, it doesn’t matter which, I love most words

Now set it in the book

Next, you’ll need some confusion, just pour it all in

Mmm, smells nice….or does it?…Oh, goodness, no, it doesn’t…what is that?

(Just hold your nose during that part if you need to)

Next, you should grab your spoon and dip it into a jar of modesty

Dump that spoonful into the book

Don’t bother trying to make it even, it’s normal for it to clump in places

You should also toss in a lot of salt water,

Because this recipe tends to leak a lot

Even when it tries not to

Now, the next part you have to do really fast

No reason, really, just for effect


A handful of dreams,

A dash of fear,

A love to dance

(But no skills here)

A pinch of this,

A drop of that

Throw it in and

Watch it splat!

Now close the book

And start to shake

The sloshing means

It’s ready to bake!

Now, that was fun, wasn’t it?

(It helps if you turn on the radio really loud

And dance around like crazy while you shake)

When you open the book,

After shaking for a few minutes,

You should see something that resembles a cake

          Sort of    –

Grab a brand new jar of niceness and kindness (any brand will do)

Smell it to make sure it’s fresh

Then put some peanut butter in the jar

Stir it a little with your spoon

What’s that you asked?



Peanut butter makes everything better.


Then spread on the mixture with your knife

Nice and smooth, make sure it covers everything

Garnish it with a sprinkle of patience,

Maybe a few pencils,

Now, you’re almost done.

One last ingredient

And, it’s the most important, of course

So don’t be shy with it

Really, just pile it on there

Mm, smells nice

The ingredient that holds it all together

A big heaping of hope.