You dont deserve to read about my life

Mother, if you are reading this

Wondering why you are excommunicated

Let me remind you

of where the trouble started

At least

I was either 12 or 13

Suffering from depression

And you refused to believe my diagnosis

Or honor my prescription

And then I made my first friend

Which you were fine with

Until you heard we were running around

Holding hands

You picked me up from the mall that weekend

With a suitcase packed in the backseat

And said my father would take care of me

That you couldnt do it

You said it’s not enough that you cut your classes

But now you’re a lesbian on top of it

It’s not like you were a good kid to begin with

And I cant deal with this

Shortly after, I think

I shaved my head

At my new school in the hillbilly region

They called me some names

I don’t want to mention

Tried to force me to kiss a girl

At the dance

And when I hit them

They hit back

So I stopped going

My father would drop me off at the office

And I would wander into the woods after second period

So my father gave me up to my then girlfriend

And her parents

Because he also couldnt handle it

…I still cant talk about

What happened next

But I have no interest in ever

Repairing our relationship

So mother, if you are reading this

Stop it.


Out of Range

Florence Foster Jennings devoted her life to singing
mistakenly believing she had some talent
before becoming the laughingstock of Carnegie hall
and rose out of her devastation with this defiant saying:
“People may say I can’t sing, but no one can ever say I didn’t sing”

I think of her fondly whenever I send my poetry out of range
read my lukewarm feedback, or stand in front of an audience
I write more than anyone I’ve ever met, I write instead of sleep
I’m not giving anyone permission to take that away from me

Walking tour

“When I was in college once

I was toddling drunk on this street

And blacked out

The next thing I knew I was facedown on my floor

Next to a bucket of vomit,”

“Oh, that’s horrifying!”

“I know, right? That was my bedroom in that blue victorian

On the third floor

That’s where I jerked off the most

Probably like, at least twice a day

The whole time I was in college.”

“Oh, charming…and also kind of sad. And now I get to walk past it every morning.”

“I know, you’re lucky. This is such a nice neighborhood. I love looking at these houses.”

“Yeah, well. I was actually thinking–we should revisit that conversation we had about moving.”

“Where did you say you wanted to go? Texas?”

“Oh, I don’t care anymore. Anywhere, really.”

I’ll tell you what you do

How can you say

you have a fucked up

history with someone

when they might say

you have no history at all?


I’ll tell you what you do

You let it go.

You move on.

You deny ever

knowing him at all

even if it is

a very small town


someday, you’ll live

in a studio apartment

by the highway

in a foreign country

and you might be alone

but you’ll have your dog

and that’s all you ever wanted