Nabisco crackers and everything’s going to be okay.

When I was 10 years old at my dads house I had a nightmare. Despite feeling too old to be scared I was. I dragged my self from my back bedroom all the way to their room. I knocked on the door crying and my dad was really sleepy looking and I felt awful. He said “you’re crying” and I sat in his chair in the living room and he went into the kitchen. He never asked what it was about, never said they’ll stop soon. He just went into the kitchen. He came back out with a cup of Dr.Pepper and a pack of nabs peanut butter crackers. He handed them to me and we watched cartoons till morning and then went on with our day. Sometimes I wish someone would just hand me a cup of Dr.Pepper and nabs crackers and sit with me.



I go to school on Monday and everyone in my school is an idiot. I’m probably one of those idiots to all the other kids that think the same thing. But everyone in my classes is weird (me) and dumb. This one girl asked what a root word was and I wanted to leave or vomit but I just laughed and everyone looked at me including the parents because it was open house. And I have all this great flannel but I can’t wear it because it’s hot as hell here. Ok teenage angst and anger and whatever go away you’re not welcome here. 

I’d like to be with you in the summer

in the winter

in the fall

but spring I shall keep to myself.


Do you fancy me as a person, you asked. 


you don’t?

no. I fancy you not as a person, but as a poem. A poem I read in school but pretended to hate, because no one likes poetry. I fancy you as a painting in a museum I don’t really understand, but I pay the entrance fee with the last of my money to go stand in front of it for hours. As lyrics to a song in another language I’ve never heard. But never as a person


and it’s sad. because I’ve never seen the sky change colors. But

it was okay because my neurologist told me I had a beautiful mind, if function is 

what we’re talking about. But function was never good enough for you. You needed

something to have a purpose and a meaning. I’d sit outside, exposed, puffing an

American Spirit and you’d tell me to come inside because it all meant nothing. 

And I’d laugh and you’d nuzzle my side and we’d, for a moment, revert to something. 

My mom would come in a blue minivan to pick me up, and you’d ask me not to leave, 

but you never stopped me, when I walked out your front door in nothing but

a pair of Birkenstocks. 


Thoughts scattered across the wall 

 I’ve never been so dead. 

I’ve never been so alive. 

I’ve never been such nothing. 


Sunday afternoons ill spent

My mother and grandmother talk about all the people from where my mom calls home. My sister texts her boyfriend and scowls in the corner, while cooing over the puppy. My grandpa talks to me about politics and makes corny  jokes over coffee while we all try to act like this is how we’d prefer to spend a sunday afternoon. When really my mom would like to be sleeping. And my sister would like to shop. And my grandma would like to sit. And my grandpa would like to walk a long walk. And I’d like to be with you.