1. women

    i know women who love the moon.
    women who count birthday cake calories,
    thick-hipped, loose-lipped, hair tied up in a ponytail whip.
    i know women who are awkward.

    i know women who move like hurricanes.
    women who have galaxies tucked between their thighs,
    domineering, god-fearing, recently lost a diamond earring.
    i know who women who are beautiful.

    i know women who look like photoshop.
    women who wake up with morning breath and crusty eyes,
    fire-starters, mario karters, always trying to play the martyr.
    i know women who are wild.

    i know women who drink hot chocolate in the summer.
    women who buy themselves sunflowers,
    full of dreams, coffee creams, lives tearing at the seams.
    i know women who are insatiable.

    i know women who share stories but never their labyrinth bodies.
    women who are always told to speak up,
    restless, breathless, hiding a spirit that is endless.
    i know women who are unwritten.

  2. what reminds me of summer

    - new jersey traffic jams
    with you riding shotgun
    and your skin the color of burnt sand.

    - kicking the covers off
    because your body
    is as warm as the sun.

    - stargazing when the only constellations i can ever find
    are the big dipper
    and the hidden ones in your eyes.

    - quiet smiles
    over checkerboard shirts
    and grass-stained picnics.

    - sticky vanilla soft serve fingertips
    and the taste
    of your rainbow sprinkled lips.

    - forever running from goodbye.

  3. I. conversation will make you anxious,
    unless it’s with someone who understands
    that the silence has fireworks, too.

    II. no one will ever tell you
    that your rage is beautiful,
    but it means that you are alive enough to burn.

    III. running will give you clarity like nothing else.

    IV. you owe it to your heart to make a mistake.

    V. don’t buy clothes that confine your limbs;
    give sunshine to your skin
    and crisp air to your bones.

    VI. seek comfort in coffee shop jazz,
    cherry juice t-shirt stains, and dirt.

    VII. let yourself be blue;
    as blue as the sky, if you’d like.
    the storm will pass.

    VIII. drive until the road ends.
    find another road.

    IX. look for yourself in star dust.
    make your own constellations along the way.

    X. you will be fine, just fine, just fine.

  4. love me like i’m the first sunset you’ve ever seen,
    like you’ve always been color blind before me.
    love me like adrenaline.
    like a map.
    like a slow dance to a song that gives you goosebumps.
    like lemon juice in your paper cuts
    and shampoo in your eyes,
    love me like i remind you what it’s like to be alive.

    love me when i’m selfish and unkind,
    when i’m narcissistic and not brave.
    love me when i keep you awake at 3 in the morning
    even though your alarm is set for 6.
    love me when i want to share the sun with you.

    love me in photographs and slices of sweets,
    in rainy, under the cover nights.
    love me in silences
    and diamond eyes across the room.

    love me for as long as you’d like.

  5. tell us about yourself

    i will never be done
    hoarding life,
    straining out every drop of sunset
    and every hint of music.

    i often find myself lost
    in photographs
    and other people’s moonlit loves.

    i get nostalgic for worlds
    that will never be home,
    because home feels
    so small
    sometimes.

    i love places
    that leave me feeling insignificant,
    but never the people
    who do the same.

    i am three parts wild
    and one part abandon
    and i am still looking
    to be completed.

  6. being alone

    is like trying to choose between the sun and the moon.
    like faded bra strap marks,
    80s movies under the covers,
    and oversized chocolate-stained sweaters.
    like missing the salted beach in the dead heart of winter.
    it is a temporary permanence.
    like too many thoughts and never enough paper.
    like the eye of the storm.
    like the crushing microwave ring of a tv dinner,
    it is he loves me, he loves me not,
    you love yourself, you love yourself not.

  7. hindsight

    7. (on surviving)

    stay alive.
    for the maple syrup and whipped cream
    drowning your banana pancakes.
    for the feeling you get driving with the windows down
    and your music three notches too loud.
    it’s been said
    that it takes ten thousand hours of practice
    to become truly successful at something.

    at fourteen, your heart
    has been beating
    for over twelve times as long—
    and your blood still travels 12,000 miles every single day.
    today you have been to san francisco and back—
    twice.

    but sometimes
    you will feel so alone.
    so empty—
    you will tattoo apologies
    under your skin
    more times than you can regret.
    sometimes
    your body will be
    the definition of gravity.

    the definition of a three-car pileup,
    you will survive.
    you will live to tell the tale,
    weary hands thumbing through the crinkled pages
    of your memory;
    you will survive.


    8. (on body image)

    this is your body
    and it is electric.
    you are made of stardust and silk,
    but some days
    you will feel like anything but.
    some days will find you
    counting calories like a machine.
    don’t you dare do any less
    than your very best.
    some days will find you
    spitting rice into a napkin at dinner
    and throwing it out
    while your parents aren’t looking
    because you’ve read about refined carbs
    and what they’ll do to your stretch-marked thighs.
    some days will find you
    like a balloon,
    taking up more space
    than you feel
    you should be given.

    on those days, remember that:
    happiness tastes
    a little like
    the doctor’s choice omelette
    you had on a second date
    (you got broccoli stuck in your teeth,
    but he didn’t care).
    happiness tastes
    a little like
    homemade pizza
    (you ran out of cheese,
    but your dad loved the crust anyway).
    happiness tastes
    a little like
    warm cookies and milk
    (you finished with just the right
    amount of each).
    happiness tastes
    a lot like living.


    9. (on relationships)

    love is a road trip to pennsylvania
    for glazed doughnuts.
    it is piano recital flowers,
    salt and pepper halloween costumes,
    and silence as comfortable as your own bed.
    it is flattened sugar cookies,
    piggy back rides, and
    getting up at 6 AM
    to see you board the school bus.
    love is everywhere you haven’t been looking.

  8. sweet tooth

    when birthdays come,
    you are always in the kitchen.
    you say there’s nothing quite like
    the gift of a sugar rush.

    preheat the oven to 350 degrees
    and let it hiss and burn and sigh;
    this is getting ready for the day.

    soften the butter
    in ten then five then three second breaths.
    a microwave heartbeat getting fasterand faster;
    that’s what falling head over heels is like.

    mix in sugar,
    and don’t forget
    to add a spoonful of crystals to your tea;
    waking up is so much easier this way.

    crack two eggs,
    and let the yolks run in
    like coming home.
    never let yourself feel
    like the discarded shells.

    add two teaspoons of vanilla,
    and take care to remember
    that sometimes
    the sweet-smelling things
    can taste just as bitter.

    sprinkle in enough flour and baking soda and salt
    for the christmas day snow.
    shiver in the dust clouds you make
    every time you exhale.

    your favorites
    are the semisweet chopped chocolate pieces,
    the cocoa powder,
    and the mixing.
    make sure to place a little chocolate
    on your tongue,
    and let it melt
    blissfully.

    separate the dough into chunks;
    let them be independent,
    you can stand alone.

    bake for fifteen minutes,
    and play as many waiting games
    as you’d like.you are a lesson in patience;
    sometimes time moves in circles
    and patterns,
    and strange ways.
    let distractions play tricks
    on your halcyon mind.

    take them out,
    let them breathe,
    and remember
    to enjoy the sweeter things.

  9. bildungsroman

    i am peter pan and growing pains. sometimes
    i lie awake at night
    running circles in my head. my thoughts
    get out of breath about 5 miles in.
    i am separation anxiety, quick to talk
    about leaving, but never quite ready
    to walk.

    but you—at 6:30 in the morning, your voice
    is the milky way. your voice
    is like falling asleep to the sound
    of summer rain. you
    are everlasting, a crimson heart
    with a metronome that will last us through Christmas.
    sometimes i’m afraid i only have enough
    to get us through tomorrow.

    i am learning myself in more ways than i can say.
    this is a revolution, a realignment of my stars;
    i will get lost in my own fire,
    and i will glow unashamed.

  10. a list of memories & lessons that come to mind:

    1. my grandmother’s weathering hands. this is how you squeeze orange juice. this is how to strain out the stringy bits that get caught in your teeth. this is how delicious it is with warm bo lo bao.

    2. my father ‘s hurricane sandy smile. power outages make him crave salty things for breakfast. this is how you cook canned spam on a gas stove. this is how you toast your mom’s fiber one bread in the sizzling grease. never waste anything, he makes me promise.

    3. my mother’s lap. this is how you clean 2 am nosebleeds with a round yellow sponge. this is how you erase the taste of an upset stomach. this is how you soothe a kiss from the sun when it bites.

    4. my sister’s wanderlust. this is how ripe figs and cheese go together. savor the tastes lingering in your mouth. this is how to drink red wine when it’s raining. this is how to break someone’s heart carefully when you find that you’ve got to keep moving.

    5. my second love. this is how second first kisses are supposed to go: shy glances, fading sunlight, and the pitter patter of dog paws on hardwood. this is how you steal time for a little bit longer. this is how you forget all the butterfly games you’ve ever played.

    6. my piano teacher’s baby grand. this is how you play softly on ivory keys. this is how to lift the pedal so it doesn’t make noise. this is how you play glissandos with the nail of your thumb; don’t wear polish, it’ll chip. this is how you your play with your heart in your fingertips and a lump in your throat.

    7. my white honda accord. this is how you drive in the fast lane with the windows down. this is how you pump your own gas. this is how good it feels to go.

    8. my summer skin. this is how you remember the taste of salt. this is how you brown in the sun. this is how you stay alive, alive, alive.

About me

* mind fluff (n): the plethora of thought fragments, ideas, and dreams that exists in every individual's head

you are revolutionary.

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