12:30pm at a Starbucks


He rotates the Starbucks cup in his hand

“Maggie?” he asks, as on me his eyes land

I nod and I smile, then I take my treat

and turn to go and grab a seat

but “I like your shirt,” he says with a grin

That’s when my imagination takes me for a spin.

We’re sharing a blanket and watching Die Hard

I’m laughing at a funny hand-drawn birthday card

His hand is roaming down to my butt as we kiss

We’re playing pool and teasing each other when we miss

The scene plays out, we’re dancing in the kitchen, only us two

He’s stroking my cheek with his thumb, saying “I love you,”

but I’m pulling away, anxiety ruining the bliss

His voice is cracking angrily, “you always do this”

Cue the Adele and the rain as I’m walking down the street

when I realize this is a mistake I don’t want to repeat

I’m running back to my room, but you’re already there

“I’m sorry,” I say, your hands in my hair

The audience is applauding, they cry that it’s fate


“Thanks,” I say, just a little too late.


His back is already to me, his hands in the sink

He gets ready to make the next customer’s drink


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

Love Story in the Setting of the Apocalypse

There was a boy in a far away town,

and as he watched the world burn down,

he thought of all the girls he never loved

being washed away in the fiery flood.

For each girl, he shed one tear

until the ground was wet and the air was clear.

But the forlorn boy continued to weep

until his tears created a river so deep

that somewhere far across the world,

the water reached a lonely girl

and slowly, she began to swim.

She rode the waves back home to him.

And to this day, the people tell

the story of the world’s farewell,

and how one boy and one girl

and their love saved the world.

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.

I Shall Love Him Always (An Ode To My Cat)


Oh! I spread my love like thick butter

Over words and chocolate and rain –

But it is my somnolent cat that holds my heart,

For reasons obscure and logic arcane.

He toys with my heart in his fluffy, puffy paws,

Hunts it down halls and catches it midair

 Commanding, compelling, adorably distinguished –

Mine is an infatuation beyond compare.

I mock his silly antics and his continuous confusion,

Yet for him I never lose respect

For I know that in our household hierarchy

He is the king – I merely a subject.

With an air of pretension and two eyes of pure gold,

He nonchalantly strides through the hallways

I stroke him and I kiss him and in him I confide

Oh! I shall love him always!