1. why you should keep that dress

    1. because of the frozen lemonade stains,
    what honey bee stings are made of,
    humming like ivory and gold.

    2. because of windchime wrinkles, chiffon charades,
    how you drifted by with sunlit skin.

    3. because of the cinnamon sugar and allspice
    in your footsteps,
    the snap of your honeycrisp laugh.

    4. because of butterfly hair and bronzed shoulders,
    feathered eyelashes singing praises
    to sunday morning chamomile.

    5. because of the new mexican moons
    and new york city murmurs
    that kept you company.

    6. because of sleeveless dawns
    that caught you picking watercolored poppies
    the color of your bitten lip.

    7. because of the chopin in your hips.

    8. because of how ocean colors fit you
    like a remembered name.

    9. because of the first time you dipped
    your blood in champagne,
    when every movement felt
    delicious.

    10. because of how easy it would be
    to forget you
    without.

  2. anxiety

    is puffy cheeks, a burning face,
    a balloon on the brink of destruction.

     is crossing the i’s and dotting the t’s.

     is squeezing your rib cage
    between sweaty palms and size zero dress fabric.

     is a heart monitor, pushing
    steady, singing
    steady, holding
    steady? 

    is unchecked boxes, unwashed dishes,
    unaddressed letters.

    is wallpaper that peels like a sunburn.

    is muted noise and clutter
    the size of the lump in your throat.

    is a recurring nightmare that sounds
    like nothing.

    is drowning in tomorrow
    while yesterday
    holds you down.

  3. sun season

    at night, you are a jersey shore kind of cool,
    a starlight-mapping, bubble-gum snapping, lively fool.

    at times, i used to listen to the sandswept song
    your footsteps made into the sun-drenched dawn.

    in dog day weather, the ocean dressed in crystals and summer,
    in dog day weather, puppy love turned you into a runner.

    through rainbow-printed umbrellas and tanning lotion shine,
    you were drunk on salt water, sipping it like wine.

    by dark, you smelled of charcoal smoke and boardwalk fries,
    you sprinted, chasing away sunsets and fireflies.

    by september afternoons, you began to fade,
    leaving gifts of bronze skin and lemonade.

    your wind now whispers in a minor key,
    quietly observing, & lost at sea.

  4. you are a romantic comedy,
    more unbelievable than i’d care to admit.
    you are late nights and body heat,
    summertime car rides,
    rainy day kisses and unwashed dishes.
    you are the fear of falling,
    a sunset away from goodbye,
    heart in throat.
    you have stay-with-me kind of eyes,
    and i hope you don’t blink.

  5. 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.

  6. 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.

  7. 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.

  8. 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.

  9. 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.

  10. 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.

About me

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

you are revolutionary.