Monday, July 29, 2013

if you ever find yourself awake at 2 AM eastern time on a monday morning, you could listen to my radio show and hear me babble like an idiot and play great music

Monday, July 15, 2013

today I woke up in my underwear
next to you in your underwear
and drove to the beach with the windows down and
you held my hand under the water

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

I like you because you rub my back when we're lying on my tiny bed on the floor.
      I like you because you fix the sheets for me when they fall off.
  I like you because I always find myself looking at you when you sleep; your shirt is lifted up just the tiniest bit at the bottom and I want to kiss the little tan island of smooth skin that's there.
               I like you because you'll follow me wherever I go.
     I like you because of your big hands and the way they feel when you slide them around my waist.
I like you because of that time you drank too much and told me that I looked beautiful and that you didn't understand me.
       I can read everyone else. Why can't I read you?
                  And sometimes I wonder if you'll remember me after the end of our days between the warm sky and dirty soles of our bare feet.

Sunday, July 7, 2013


god bless this city, cradled between green mountains
where I first heard the sound of your voice
where I learned that I could be on my own
where I courted friends who would love me with their whole hearts
the city that took me under its wing and taught me the art of moving on
through numb fingers and nights of sweating beneath my sheets
where the cruel winter is nursed back to life by its warmer cousin,
vibrant with promise and seas of glimmering fresh water
and there's something to be said about the way it slips through my fingers
 to the green mountains interrupting the summer skyline and

light a cigarette on the corner of north prospect and pearl as you wait for the stoplight
take two tabs of acid and sit on the william's fire escape


Ryan's in Grand Isle. I spent last night alone for the first time in a while. I made my bed and smoked weed out the window and fell asleep with the lights on.

I'm going to have my own radio show at my school's radio station very soon.

I'm sitting on the couch at the station, there are old records with tacky cover art pinned to the wall. My favorite one is The Defranco Family's "Save The Last Dance For Me."

Someone wrote on it in blue pen "died of a cocaine overdose in '85".

All I've had to eat today is bread with biscoff spread and potato chips that I bought at a gas station last night.

I'm developing a smoker's cough and I secretly think it's kind of charming.

Saturday, July 6, 2013


Last night I wore liquid eyeliner and a patterned dress several sizes too big for me to a Great Gatsby-themed party. It was in a beautiful house by the lake, and some time around midnight everybody stumbled out back to jump into the cold water. I stripped down to my underwear and floated on my back. I let water fill my ears and stared at the unmoving, dusty glow of the milky way.

I held Ryan's hand on the drive back to his house. The convertible top was off, and I stretched my arms into the warm summer wind, feeling positively drunk off of expensive rum and positive emotion.


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