She Drew a Picture of Him: A Poem


She drew a picture of him

and his eyes were light

and his smile was wide

and sometimes it felt like he could see her.

She drew a picture of him

and the playful sunlight illuminated his skin

and glanced and glinted around

the dark areas, the folds of his clothes

and ignored, ignored, denied, denied.

She drew a picture of him

that she could hang on her wall,

in her mind, plastering that still image

for safekeeping and for empty evenings

when imagination was all she had.

She drew a picture of him

and was particular about the details

(she knew anything she missed now

would be forgotten come a year)

so she paid too much attention

and she gave too much time

and she became too invested

and she lost herself in the drawing.

She drew a picture of him

and it became more real to her

than he ever was.


The Promise String: A Short Story

tumblr_njyzapXYyD1u92dlto1_500We’re suspended, the two of us here.

“Why do we need this?” he asks.

“So you don’t forget.”

“So I don’t forget, or so that I remember forever?” he chuckles at his own distinction. I don’t find it amusing in the slightest. The mug of hot liquid on the table is rapidly throwing steam from its possession.

“Do you want to untie it?”

“No. I never want to forget.”

“Now you’re lying.” He’s playing with the ends of the tie so that I know he’s lying. I drop his hand and it falls on the table between us.

“That hurt.” He says it but he doesn’t flinch, almost as if he saw the pain coming. I stand up from my wooden chair, opposite from his, and I’m relieved when the steely cold of the wood loses contacts with my body. He almost follows me, I can sense it, but part of him likes that steely cold.

“I swear I don’t want to forget,” he says. “I promise.” It’s all irrelevant. My back is to him.

“You can’t remember forever,” I tell him, my hands on the drapes. “You just can’t.” I start to tug on them.

“We can remember for as long as we want,” he suggests. “Even if we forget a few times. Forever is a long time to never forget something.”

“You would know about that.” I close the drapes. There’s still steam coming from the hot mug, now cooling, and even from across the room it warms my back.

“It will be a long time before I can forget this,” he hums. “It’s getting cold.”

“You like it cold.”

“I only said that so you would borrow my jacket.”

A part of the curtain, I realize now, was left partly open. It seems I won’t be forgetting for a long time, either. But I don’t know if this will be something worth remembering forever. The temperature in the room is dropping. The chair was cold, anyway. I pack my things and leave.

Tether Me Down: A Poem


Numb my ears and hold me still,

give me purpose to fulfill.

Shout a name out, shout a song–

you always seem to shout it wrong.

When I’m drowning, God forbid,

drowning now in things I did,

as the air escapes my lungs,

hold my body to the rungs.

Tether me, and whisper things,

whisper silence ’till it sings,

whisper with a shouting song,

say I did good all along.

Promise me you’ll never go.

(I know that you will go, though.

It’s only time before we break–

I break–do it for my sake.)

My ashes like snow on the town,

At least you had me tethered down.


(click image for credit)

In Silence: A Poem

“Sometimes quiet is violent” – twenty one pilots


I held her as

her every muscle bent.

Along her back, a twisted waltz

rippled beneath the skin

(her ribcage danced like worms)––

her jaw fell open, her tongue pushed back

as if in a scream, as if she gagged.

Her eyes rolled in her head,

all the way backwards, into her brain;

her nerves ripping, her muscles snapping,

her dead fish arms

limp at her sides.

I held her, and whispered kindnesses to her,

but I could not revive her,

which shook me all the more,

as she was me.

We sat in silence.