trying desperately to make my apartment look put-together.  Stumbling through all my boxes and various treasures that I packed up over two months ago..

You: the room I run to during
tornado warnings,

highest point during
flood season,

the bloodbank
I frequent after


I am a  river slow-winding its way to the

your lips taste of



her voice is cream over
coffee, made unbitter
carefully palatable
eyes, twin snake-bites
the most unfortunate of
harsh beauties

do not touch
do not feed

her teeth are the greediness
of bear traps,
she is lonely enough
to never let go.

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)

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


stay hungry

a limping heart is not necessarily a

it is possible to be greedily
broken. to be fascinated instead of
frightened by all the
dead cats that one’s curiosity has bred

for some, pulse-less tabbies take on new names
with each stage of
rigor mortis

ink recipes
folk magic
the benefits of



something random… I don’t know why, but going to church straight up kills my writers block… I always end up writing something there.

how to meet people

what’s your name?
what do you study?

do you have a list of socially acceptable
hobbies you repeat on days like these
when people want to know who you are?

are you comfortable with who you

have you ever spilled your guts
to someone who gave them away
for free? (because if so, that’s bullshit,
even kidneys go for thousands)

do you believe in God and if so does yours
hate  the ones who don’t?

do you listen to your friends when they
tell you who you shouldn’t enjoy the company of?

would you turn me down if I
asked you to dance?


One day my sorority told us to think up some questions to ask the new girls.  My index card was too small to fit everything.  Also, mine  were not the kinds of questions most of them had.  I am not in a sorority anymore.