This is why I wrote you poetry
and sprinkled your chest with rose petals.
This is why I kissed you in public.
This is why I made time to meet your parents.
This is why I listened.
This is also why I left.
As I learn to fill my own cup, I realize why it was so empty.
I can’t stop smiling since and then there’s the and the way you time and space are meaningless here. it’s rather lovely there are no weapons it’s like cherry popsicles and puppy kisses it’s like a warm rain and singing around a campfire. it’s like top-shelf tequila and my toes buried in warm sand. it’s…
Someone recently asked me for tips on being a good writer. I thought about it and realize that it really applies to everything in life. This is all pretty obvious, I suppose, but it’s what I’ve learned the hard way. It’s advice I would give anyone at any stage of life: Find yourself. Get a…
A friend recently told me he was having a hard time and wondered if I would have a drink with him. “Sure,” I said. We agreed to meet at 7:00 at a local restaurant. When I arrived, he wasn’t there so I checked my phone. There was a message from him saying he had…
Dear Bluebeard, It seems you decided somewhere along the line that I am the perfect girl to fit into that little space in your pocket in your life– –that little compartment in your dreams, or your fantasies where things are tidy and YOU get your needs met. (Do you see ME?) To my brothers: I…
The Guest House This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably….