trying to understand the galaxy

i remember, how i felt

watching it all come to life

the lurch in my chest

butterfly wings and soft petals

drifting down the river

brushing against my eyes

how the autumn leaves felt on calloused fingertips

the sunset trickled down my face in droplets

and the waterfall made my hair go frizzy

i remember, the sky was hazy and crowded back then

and by the end of the day, half the planets had crumbled to dust

so i watched them turn to shooting stars

and got stardust caught between my toes

i could have stayed there forever, you know

drawing out lines between the stars

and giving them names

watching the sun grow stronger every day

and the world slowly slot into focus

i could have faded away there,

and let myself take their place

i could have been happy, that way

i could have felt the willows beneath my fingers

watched the dew gather on the ferns

and slipped away with the morning sun


3/4 in a suite of seasonal poems

she’s bitter, and mean

takes away everything you’ve got

leaves you begging on your knees

you ask her for an answer, and she never comes clean

she’s cold wind and rotting leaves

she’s got plans for greatness

half-hidden up her sleeve

she’s going places, you see

so you listen, and you wait

her kisses sting like vinegar

and her breath gusts with hate

she’s worms in your apple

mold in your bread

and you hate her, and you love her

you dream her soft kisses and lullabies

you dream her gentle words and pastel eyes

paint her in oil, and watercolour

try out acrylic for a change; but you never get her right

she’s got a plan for greatness

and you’ll tag along for the ride

put your hand out the window

wrap yourself up in cardigan lies

there’s a knot in our blankets

there’s a knot in my heartstrings

she’s there and she’s gone

short days and long nights

windswept hair and cold feet

the draft, slipping under the door

the silence of midafternoon

i won’t miss her for long

in the creaking pipes and the leaking roof

leaves in the gutters and rust in the door

she’s here and she’s gone

and i don’t think i’ll see her around anymore

safety blanket

a short piece about fanfiction and growing up

let’s start at the beggining.

when i was ten years old

i mean six

i mean four

i mean twenty-five

doesn’t matter

cause you were there for me

you were soft pages

and escapist fantasy

you were home

you were family

and you didn’t always do it perfectly

but you taught me that love won out

that i could be anything i wanted

that messing up was okay

you held me together, all these years

and that’s gotta count for something, babe

and god, you were there

when the sky was black in the costco parking lot

and i didn’t have anyone to turn to

you were gentle

and you were kind

at a time when i didn’t know that kind of love was possible

and for that, i’m always gonna be grateful

’cause you sung me to sleep

you held me close to your chest

you let me be a kid, for just a couple minutes a day

and when things got bad

i made shadow puppets on the floor

and those imaginary friends, they always told me

that i didn’t have to be afraid anymore

i gave you my heart

and my soul

until i don’t know who i am without you

until the world seems grey without you

until i’m not sure if i’ll ever stop

sleeping with teddy bears

and writing stories about magic

cause you were my safety blanket

when the ceiling crumpled

you held it up like atlas

you gave me the courage i needed to find my way through

and darling, i’m scared

ladybug, i don’t know what i’ll do without you

and my friends will probably laugh

and roll their eyes

’cause they weren’t held together by school-safe glue and craft glitter

for most of their lives

’cause they know how to grow, and change

and leave the thing they love most in the world behind

sweetheart, i’m not ready to grow up

but this twin sized bed is getting smaller by the day

and thumbprint cookies just don’t taste the same

I grew up obsessing over books and stories I liked. Fanfiction was how I learned to write, and it’s still close to my heart. I honestly don’t know where I’d be now without it. It’s made me a better writer, and as I get older, I feel like I have to let it go. I don’t want to be 30 and still desperately clinging to book series I read in middle school. But… honestly, I’ve lost a lot of things, and right now, I don’t think I can stand to let one more go. I don’t think I want to.

A part of me is… a little scared, honestly. That I’m never gonna make my own stories, as good as the ones I could make in a borrowed world.


2/4 of a suite of seasonal poems

he’s wearing skirts of white lace

with blossoms tucked in his hair

he’s soft fingers and sweet

willow branches blooming from his throat

he’s soaked in rain

snapped willow branches and a sore throat

he watches as you go

and he’s still kind, you know?

still soft, and trying

still pulsing with feelings

that will never be returned

he’s a fighter

he howls with the wind

washes dead leaves down gutters

spits out hail like fury

means every word of what he said

even as the river bleeds into the city

he’s got flowers of gossamer

and branches of velvet and chiffon

he’s everything at once

he’s never enough, not really

but he’s got sticky sweet kisses

apple blossoms and rosewater

he tastes like forgiveness

he tastes like relief

The second in a series of seasonal poems! I’ll be posting autumn next week, I believe. 🙂


(1/4 of a suite of seasonal poems)

she’s tired, and she’s fighting

with everything she’s got

she’s golden fields of dried-up grass

melted glass and bone meal dust

traffic flowing like molasses down the shimmering road

she’s tired, and she’s trying

chapstick kisses against the wilting earth

she watches the clock, ticking in the corner

counting seconds off on sunburnt fingers

she walks barefoot on hot pavement

wearing a skirt of lace and a crown of stone

she’s peach tea and laughter

she’s the colour of the sky

she’s pressing kisses to clenched fingers

she’s saying goodbye

I’ve been getting into more narrative poems recently–I used to absolutely hate writing these, but honestly, of late? They’ve been growing on me. I’m gonna do a suite of seasonal poems like this–I have spring and autumn written up so far, so stay tuned for that in the next few weeks. 🙂