On finding a home.

We’re humming Don’t go, Jason Waterfalls.

The footage would be lost but not I. 

They say it’s for lovers, but all i can think is this state goes on forever.

Let the chips fall where they may, she thinks.

Part of growing up is learning how to let go. 

What do we know of exit wounds, anyways.

On lazy hazy crazy summers.

Gramma said, I’m going on a long trip.

I may be twelve, but I’m becoming more.

Imagine you’ve stumbled upon a playful or stupid or merciless genie.

When I was seventeen, I found the seam around my neck and unzipped it.

Despite being in a dark room with a stranger, I am reassured. 

I didn’t know why I wanted to do this. It was a compulsion, a twist in character brought about by a hand holding a stopwatch.

On the underrated art form.

Every Wednesday, shed their business suits and don purple polyester tracksuits that crackle when they move.

The dads will sing along to Ashanti too, in a high, thin countertenor, near enough to the notes to feel their resonance across time.

His laugh was the loudest, the hardest sound coming out as a wheeze at the end.

We toppled out the door, catching ourselves as we spilled into a buzz of neon and tires spitting rain.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO STOP HAUNTING MY BODY.