“In that first draft, no one can judge you. No one has to see that first draft. You do not owe it to anyone to show it to them. Keep that first draft sacred. Just let go and write.”
In the end we’re only dirt.
winter tucks us under his blanket again
The snowflakes danced in the chilled breeze
With your personal art, you can do what you want. It’s 100 percent up to you. So be brave, be weird, and push all of the creative boundaries possible.
1. she no longer exists, existing not in her past self.
My grandmother sent me a message out of the blue on a Tuesday morning.
Negative space as a technique has a long history of use in visual art and I think poetry is particularly conducive to its use. What do we communicate via what we leave unsaid? Which realities is language incapable of capturing authentically? Who’s articulate silences are we ignoring? These are the questions that keep me up…
bipedal fools bare candied crimson
my god, won’t you swallow me whole?
Dear Fairy, Are you lonely?
There is sourness in the winter canned citrus.
If my younger self could see me now
“I had an art teacher who told me that art is all about running into problems and finding a way to solve it- hearing that has helped me when I’m feeling too perfectionistic. Both writing and drawing has given me the ability to understand more things about myself, which has always been so interesting. Growing…
My bubbled inner thoughts that loftily pop at your errant evocation
Those days, the darkness of a cello; aftermath of a downpour.
Mary hates cowboys. All of them. She hates their guts.
On days when there is not enough of you to go around,
The language of Latin is dead,
Butterscotch sticks to the passenger seat
Lavender wafts like a burst of flame,
“An idea that hasn’t been introduced to the world of reception and criticism is only half-baked. It needs to leave the abstract space of your mind and become something tangible. And that’s only the beginning.”
life’s first leg of forgiveness is best reared in siblinghood.
a snowy flesh blanket
anything is as plausible
You can try it once; I promise, nothing bad will happen.
My good feelings cave in to your absence.
There’s a place in the clouds, where when it rains,
What am I going to do with all the blurred faces in my head?
is it better to speak or to die?
i dream for the same reason i breathe & i dream for the sake of feeling
the bread dough stuck to my fingers
I always say that I love being disappointed.
it’s flooding my head.
On Wednesday nights, in a small living room on a dead-end street,
the sun stretches towards the east my love,
we gathered up some words and piled on the couch:
the most obvious thing
One night, I waved over the dark figure, who glided
I was walking home from school in the mid-autumn evening
Since I can remember, I’ve always enjoyed the horror genre, and it didn’t take very long for me to begin enjoying fantasy.
Grief has followed for as long as I can remember.
for sale: phone charger
vita says this letter is / a squeal of pain.
A bubbling, insatiable pain pierces my gut
Twisting ivy vines thread and twine through ladened leafy boughs
Trace names in the sand with driftwood
my heart walks the flower path, singing as it goes,
i wonder if you still think of me the way i think of you &