Somewhere in my Readership

I don’t know who is reading my blog

Except to say alot of people are

And I can’t help but be frightened

that some family member or colleague

Is combing through my posts meticulously

Gathering enough evidence to commit me to a metal institution

Call me crazy, paranoid, egocentric

But it wouldn’t be the first time

Something like that has happened


Please don’t debase yourself for us (thank you to my followers, who have only shown me the utmost support)

Thank you to everyone who has watched a video

of my readings and didn’t point out

that it would be a whole lot more interesting

if I just showed a little more skin


Even though I was terrified

that the people here

would react to my poetry the way

I’ve been treated in real life


I opened my legs all over

these private bad thoughts

and offered them up

in a whirlwind of sex and drugs

and none of you called me a whore

or told me to shut up


this is a world

where people want me to have

only what I want



That was me?

If I can be brave enough

to let him read my poetry

then I can go back and revisit

what he’s been reading

That’s what I thought

but I shouldn’t have done it


Now, i can see

why people are just relieved

to see that I’m still kicking

I could’ve died in April, in May,

and again in August


It scared the shit out of me.




How I met the man who will edit my next book

The first time I met him

I sputtered and squalked and stalked off to the bathroom

to recollect myself

after he said he’d been reading my blog.

Then I came back and stared him down

I said, “Oh, ok, and did you happen to read the first poem?

The one that says not to read my blog?

and that if you do it anyways, you’re a creep? Even a stalker?”

“Yeah, but..i don’t know. I thought you were being ironic.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“I liked your stuff!”

“That’s really not the problem.”

Oh, god, and then that very awkward silence

which followed.

I wanted to call the waitress back

and change my drink order

to the strongest one on the menu

On Becoming a WordPress Poet (and trying, unsuccessfully, to keep it a secret)

so here the time comes
when I’m waiting for
my new boyfriend to text me back
and validate whether or not
he can handle the fact
that I’m a poet who writes
about him and my ex boyfriend
who has legally changed
my name to my pseudonym
and cut all my hair off.

And here’s one of the times
where I privatize my blog
and pretend to have nothing to do with it

my poetry spews out of me
like blood and shit and piss
I’m purging
and its weird to be complimented
on my puddle of sick

I encourage anyone I know
never to read it
because it can become
Sylvia Plath-esque
and sometimes I care about
what feels like
putting a web cam up
in my bathroom
but its such a relief
after years of silence,
I keep doing it