The only way to get rid of all those awful, hateful things you say to yourself is to solidify them into lozenges, place them on your tongue, and let them dissolve. Form your I’m not good enoughs into a blue raspberry drop, your I can’t do its into a cherry drop, and your I don’t…
When I mess up, and lord knows I mess up, all I want to do is unzip my skin. My mistake envelops me, creating a membrane of someone else–someone who isn’t a good friend, someone who hurts others. When I mess up, I confront my mistakes. I lay myself out, raw, unzipped, uncovered, unprotected. I just…
He’ll come with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. I know he will. They say life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get. But I know what you’re going to get. You’ll get a box filled with little white chocolate lies, with hurt that oozes…
The first house she bought was forest green and the size of her thumbnail. She could trade it in with three others for a bright red hotel that would guarantee her victory. The second house she bought was a bit bigger and pentagonal. She placed the tiny doll family inside, encouraging her daughter to speak,…
Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Stuffing. Uncle Bob’s clam dip. Green beans. Rolls. Grammy’s sweet potatoes. Salad. Pumpkin cheesecake. Uncle Bill’s blackberry, pumpkin, and apple pies. Friends. Family. Gratitude. Laughter. Rinse. Repeat. Originally posted as Happy Thanksgiving! on November 27, 2014. Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry,…
When I wake up in the morning, I make my covers into a cave. If I can’t see the world, it doesn’t exist, right? I can handle blue jersey sheets surrounding and suffocating me, but I’m not sure I can handle the real-life things that do the same. I’ve discovered that seven minutes is the…
I’m guilty of writing words in the steam on the mirror. I’m guilty of leaving my dishes in the sink for far too long. I’m guilty of picking at bug bite scabs because I’ve never done anything risky enough to get a “real” scar. I’m guilty of letting boys give me hickeys that last after…
My thoughts are in perpetual motion. Where am I going next? What is he thinking? That’d be a good name for a cat. That’d be a good indie band name. Do I hate her? I’m sorry. I’m confused. I need new shoes. I have too many things. Do I say hi or pretend I never…
I am from suburbia where the PTAs are a little too involved where people are dangerously unconcerned about crime where not playing soccer somehow made me inferior where kids have never even seen the inside of a city bus I am from eating Indian curry and Thai stir-fry instead of hamburgers and spaghetti and multiple…
Seven dollars at a garage sale bought me four woven placements and a framed print of Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party for the house we will never share. I go to every open house in my area. I don the blue booties to protect the pure white carpet from the inadvertent damage I cause…
Victim to Charm 