NaPoWriMo 6

i write when i can’t breathe. so, summer’s soft inhale – perfect writer’s block.


NaPoWriMo 4

the heat attracts itself to her like flame to moth teases instinct out and she dances with it. meeting you salves her exasperation. soothes the hives from days spent furling and unfurling her tulipped mouth for them, the aggressively uninteresting. but for you she springs, like hair from a bun.

NaPoWriMo 2

i’m thinking of all the women my mother rescinded me to. 8-7 weekdays. "I'm only leaving To bring things back." and i’m thinking of how she would tie a thread between us and her. mooring rope. “Can she see it?” Keisha’s mum never seemed to. So we sat together then, for hours waiting for the… Continue reading NaPoWriMo 2

NaPoWriMo 1

poetry has broken the back of my voice. craft a bowl from spine. like lifted hands waiting for something to fall into them. poetry is taping postcards to hotel room walls. i’m dizzy. i’m watching a film in a language i don't understand and i'm watching my hands write subtitles. i’m falling asleep on my… Continue reading NaPoWriMo 1