Writer’s Block is the most satisfying beast to kill in the whole world I think.  A lot less species would be endangered if hunters would have only picked up a pen instead of a gun.

Happy Valentine’s Day!  This is the first time I’ve made it this far with anyone and that makes me exceedingly joyous.

Writer’s Block

I am not broken

rainbows only bleed from
cracked glass, I am none of this

my creative beasts have chewed
their way out of me,
who will cook?

whose claws will mutilate printer paper
into soggy, squalling origami?

who will hold my head down, under the ink
watching the bubbles float up until I finally

my scars are almost gone
there is no ink in the larder

organ donor


a group of scientists will
spill the contents
of my heart

out onto a white table

pick through them,
examine everything thoroughly

and still find

Creative writing class is about to start. I have to read my poems to the class.  Ugh. This needs to be over.

Rain mixed with sunrise.

Here’s the thing about gossip and why I don’t like it. It’s like I was out dancing in the rain for three hours and you’re telling everyone I broke into the pool to swim when (let’s get real here) I haven’t been near a public swimming facility in years. I’m ashamed that misplaced verbosity can make me feel anything, even anger.

Even if I could separate out the ruthless from the ones who just don’t care, I’d still be left wondering whether there was any fundamental difference between the two.

It’s raining and I wish I was outside wandering the streets of Fargo for an unbiased shoulder to rant to instead of sitting on the kitchen floor trying to write things.


oh mannn tonight killed my writer’s block. good.  I don’t care about pain and betrayal if it gives me something to pour into the ink.


(wrote this at 5-6 AM but forgot to post it so posting it now)

and here it is.  When “thank you” trips over “I’m sorry”, I think I finally learned the concept of trust, but it seems to be too late.  I want to beg you to forget the last 3 hours.  I don’t know anything.  I know too much.  I wish I could get back some naivety, something to make me less scared of missteps.  To be able to say “I didn’t know” and mean it, and have that be a good enough excuse.  A pat on the head and a dismissal to the treehouse.  please stop pretending I am an adult.

I want you to know that I appreciate your efforts to make it all better for me.

There is one person on this entire planet that I’m not “cool” with.  I wish I could change that.   All the time, all the time, all the time.  I hate to see him.    The most stressful thing in my life.  Why can’t we just be chill?

Scratch that, Where is my apology.

Then, maybe.  We could be chill.

I am unhappy tonight.  Shadows.

Will you feel better?

I wish that youtube had music with no videos sometimes.  That’s the way I like to consume it.

In other news, this is devastatingly relevant.  


Oh HEY I got accepted into the Northern Eclecta, which is a journal NDSU puts out every year with creative submissions… I am happy.  This next poem isn’t the one that got accepted.  I just wrote this today actually.  


would you cut out
the rotting parts of your
past as if it were a slightly-too-old

there have been times


when I wished for




still, decay is good for the ink
in a way that easy-to-consume


so I leave myself inelegant I leave myself


another year of tangled half-brilliance
another year of enough imperfection

to blind someone



there’s this thing where I get really into a guy and I think that if it ends I’ll curl up in a ball and die.

and then it ends.

and I don’t die.

two weeks later, I end up chasing another car.  different color.  same level of oh-em-gee preteen butterflies.

I am so lame.   see I can sit here and observe all this happening,  and I still think this is the exception.  EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I’m not a freakin’ teenager.  I am an adult.  so they tell me.