Poetry under my umbrella, as I walk
As I am pacing my bedroom floor late at night
As I am waking slowly on a Friday morning (hello, unemployment!)
In the sun on our hammock
When my older sister was my age, she was already married and pregnant with her first child.
When my mom was my age, she was assaulted on the street and almost died from the injury.
I have traveled some and worked a little and I have a bachelor's degree, but I don't have much to show for the last five years of my life other than the fact that I am alive and even in relatively good mental health.
I'm still terrified of job applications. I'm still living at my parents' house. And this is my life for the time being, which is to say, for now, which is to say, this is my life — I
days made of beautiful small things and beautiful big thoughts.
on the inside of my forehead aches
a wide empty horizon named
afraid (I am) alone and sorrowing
What this year is about for me: Doing things my way. Wanting. Testing the limits of apparent mutual exclusivity. Growing roots and making myself at home.