More Issues Than Vogue

I’m realizing I have a lot of trust issues.
I haven’t always been like this, though…
In fact, I haven’t ever been like this.

But I’ve finally reached the point where I’m just so tired of being let down in a major way by everyone I love. I’m tired of being hurt in some way so everyone else can feel better.
And I’m scared. Because as much as I like to tell myself I’m the strongest person I know, I’ve realized I can’t go through it again.

Please be the one that surprises me.
I desperately need something to be good.



Also Old


Something about how I still look for your face in everyone else’s, or
Something about how I still shout “I miss you” into the void.
“Write something,”
Everyone says,
“Write something,”
But all I can think about is the way you said my name.
So I’ll write something about how I am more banned book than girl,
Something about how miles away feels too close now,
Something about never wanting to hold a hand again.
(But I am not, and it is not, and I do.)

This is the best I can do.
Something about how my love crossed an ocean,
And something about how you never wanted it to travel there in the first place.

Everything Changes.

I sit outside in a red chair in the backyard of the house I grew up in.
Did this street get smaller, or is it me that has grown? So much has changed. I light a cigarette. I started smoking again and I wonder if you would approve.
I laugh when I remember you’re the only person who never gave me shit for anything I chose to do.

My mom told me someone on the news said more acorns in the fall means a bad winter is coming. I shiver just thinking about it. I remember the conversation you and I had about hibernating; little bears spending winter under the covers. I remember how we prayed for spring.

It’s so quiet here. The only sounds come from squirrels and birds, occasionally an unhappy dog barking somewhere in the distance. For a while I thought this place was just what I needed, but I miss the hum of the city, and four lane highways.
“We could both go to the countryside,” you told me once,
“it will help us get better.”

I thought I missed this place, this tiny house and these quiet streets. It’s warm tonight and I can smell the lake in the air. Nothing is quite how I remember it, but isn’t that how it always goes? And I wonder if you’re feeling the same disconnect with the place in which you grew up. I hope you’re not. If one of us gets better, I hope it’s you.

As I lean down to put out my cigarette, I notice it- an abundance of acorns. It’s going to be a long winter, and I know I’ll never make it here. Because this isn’t my home anymore, it never was.
Neither were you.

Once again, this is something super old. Because the end of the month is hard and my two favorite beating hearts aren’t feeling well and tomorrow is a holiday and I’m full of dread and longing. Please enjoy your turkey tomorrow. I’m thankful for you. 


November 22

“Suddenly for no earthly reason I felt immensely sorry for him and longed to say something real, something with wings and a heart, but the birds I wanted settled on my shoulders and head only later when I was alone and not in need of words.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

Isn’t that how it always goes?
I’m sorry, but today was shit and I just don’t have words.
I’ll be back tomorrow.


Someone has taken your place.
Actually, someone has poured all of their love into the cup you used to fill,
And it is spilling over the edges.

You told me once that I should find my happiness;
Here I am. Happy.

But you have the senses of a shark, I think.
You can smell my bliss from 4,000 miles away, and you try to spill the cup.
We’ve done this before, though,
And when it spills,
You will only replace half.

You will leave me thirsty.

I can’t wait anymore.
I never thought anyone would be an overflow,
But she is.

I’m sorry.

Red Wheelbarrow Revisited

I was going to write about how I would be your red wheelbarrow,
Because I will wait, through sunshine and storms, to be useful.
You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to be dependable for;
I’ll work for you.

I was going to write about how I will carry your loads when you can’t,
Because you’ve already carried so much, and I know you must be tired.
Give me your trouble, your hurt, your doubt.
I want to roll them far away for you.

That’s what I was going to write about today.
Because today you felt ruined, and I wanted to carry it away.
I wanted you to know that I will be waiting,
Because life is so much,
But you can depend on me.

I might be ordinary,
But I can be necessary.

10 Things. 10 People.

  • Thank you for loving me.
  • I am stronger than you think I am.
  • Please realize I’m 30 and stop treating me like a child.
  • You saved me and I can never repay you.
  • I wish I could have saved you.
  • I can never thank you enough for making me laugh and showing compassion.
  • I’m scared to lose you; there’s so much I don’t know.
  • I never knew you, but I still think about you.
  • You showed me what tough is.
  • I’m so sad he changed you.

A Letter

Dear _____,

I would like to start by letting you know I hate you. I’m done trying to dance around the truth, no matter how wrong it is for me to feel this way. I hate you, and it feels good to finally admit those words. I don’t just hate your actions, or your reactions, or the way you treated me, or the way you actually convinced me I was going crazy. I hate everything about you.

I’ve done so many stupid things in life, but you are one of my biggest regrets. I should have stayed far away, I should have never returned a phone call after the first night, I should have listened to my gut and all of the red flags I saw. But I didn’t, so here we are. You’re still playing the victim, and that’s really unfortunate for you. Because feeling strong is liberating. I know this because I feel strong. I am strong. That’s the only thing I got out of wasting almost a year of my life with you.

So, fuck you. I thought I was going to write about some of the individual things you did to me to make me feel this way, but there’s no point. You know what kind of miserable asshole you are, though you’ll deny it outwardly to everyone else in the world.

I hope you end up alone. Not because I don’t want you to be happy (but to be clear, I don’t), but because I don’t want you to put another woman through your bullshit. You are the worst kind of person. But you didn’t break me, bitch.

I guess I’ll end this letter by letting you know I’m happy. So. Fucking. Happy. Because I’m in love with a woman who knows most of my biggest flaws and doesn’t use them against me. A woman who will never spew hate or anger or try to break me or anyone. And I love her, too. It comes easy; naturally. I will never have to hide from her. At least your abusive, manipulative bullshit prepared me to know what real love is when it comes along.

So, that’s it. I’ve said what I needed to say.

Fuck off.