Today we noticed a dripping in the library.
We covered up the shelves with a plastic covering but drops from the ceiling hit the tile, splashing over the ground level books.
We did our best to carry those ones away.
But there we were: 2 college students, hopeless in the face of a plumbing disaster;
As the art history books soaked on the shelves
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC
you caught me mid-sip
with a smile and a wave.
As the corners of my mouths rose,
a dribble of coffee escaped.
I brought my sleeve to my lips
thinking no one had seen
but looked over and there was
another, smirking at me
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
You said it felt like someone stabbed your throat with a knife.
Your tongue was the knife that stabbed mine.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Spiders spin in my sleep
webs wrapping wishes
into secure spheres.
I'll throw them across time.
Maybe mayhem
can carry cravings
far from fantasy.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 5:46 PM UTC
I think it's so cliche
that you assume we disagree
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
my friend Jill cut off most her hair
and when I saw her
I thought:
this is it
we're all growing up
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
when my grandma cut my hair
she told me sometimes
she gets the urge to run
outside and
tape all the leaves back on the trees
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
That night I told you to find your own ride home
because I had better plans.
Plans that didn’t involve driving you back
after the high school dance
I wish I had taken you home.
We would’ve slipped off our shoes and laid across the bed.
When you opened your phone
to read the texts that burned your eyes,
I would’ve held your hand.
Even though you slide on a pretty dress,
and squeeze into a pair of heels,
bad news still slides it’s way down cheeks
carrying dark lines of mascara.
Tears don’t mean anything,
it’s the silence that stings.
The same silence that wrapped around
her neck ropes under your bedroom door,
slipping through pink glossed lips,
until you can’t breathe anymore.
Earlier that night we danced together
when your feet were still light as air.
Later on you found your own way home,
and lay wide awake, different from before.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:23 PM UTC
She slides in her headphones.
The cart is filled of freshly read books,
the lucky ones with their pages recently turned,
gently pushed to the upstairs stacks.
Beyond the glass door lies
the world of words. Walls
encase countless characters,
stories that needed to be told.
And now the room belongs to the girl
with the music that lifts her from shelf to shelf
bringing each book back to where it belongs
from her tiptoes to her knees.
Her eyes erode the call numbers
while lyrics and numbers fill her head.
On the bright days a little hip hop has her
dancing down strings of shelves.
Other times she selects slow songs
and imagines the books are a part of her:
the early memories, destined dreams, the everyday thoughts.
Thoughts that thread through the stacks.
She tries to tuck them away before they’re lost
and wishes they could also be
placed so particularly in her mind.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC
Aluminum foil squeezes a treat whose heat
warms my back through the knapsack.
My friends and I, we climb, hoping we’ll find
a place to fill our stomachs and rest our minds
When we see it we know.
A patch of rock entirely exposed
overlooking the canyon where our voices echo.
Once our feet are suspended over the edge
high above the trees, I unzip my pack.
And the beauty deserves all my attention,
but my eyes are lost in another dimension,
distracted by a perfect breakfast burrito
one slip away, from unraveling in the chasm below.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC