Walking through your head.

Oil and water A drop in the ocean Always far from the fry pans Far from the fish fries and fast breaking bratwurst The hot oil sputters It burns my skin like a brand echoing through me as underlined letters write out lives I have not lived Rotting in that old country home smeared with…

Meeting people is so strange. Why do we have to touch hands to acknowledge each other’s existence? It’s like: “I respect you so I’m going to grab you with my hand that’s touched who knows what, who knows where, who knows how many times”. Not to mention who knows when the last time you washed…

Without fail every time I’ve talked to my mom since moving to the city she finds a way to bring up men and whether or not I have a boyfriend yet. I love her, but I’m so goddamn tired of hearing the same tired prying questions. “When are you gonna get a boyfriend? When are…

Ambushed again. You’d think I’d know by now to keep my hands in my pockets.  Mrs. B had her hands full and was fumbling with her keys trying to get in the building, so I ran up to help. When I grabbed her groceries, I brushed against her. Oh shit. Didn’t know today was the…