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camps 7h
have you ever thought about the fact that the
middle of nowhere is rather relative and that
way too many of them exist for them not to be
places that we can point to on a map

nowhere is
black sand and scorpions under the covers
glasses on a waitress and pink hair on another
thinking about you more than i probably should
seeing snow on mountains before ******* her
being twenty and too afraid of kissing an italian at a bar
midnight on the airplane for a christmas without the family
time away from you when i wanted nothing but to be next to you
carrots in tomato sauce before cards and welcoming gestures
all the people and places without a poem that deserve one
silently realizing that this may be everything i'm seeking
a shoebox full of polaroids but no pictures of you
the truth in flesh to prove my dreams are real
twelve countries and zero sense of home
anywhere but here

the middle of all that looks a little like
the time i did too little and said too little
when those three little words proved to be
the biggest of them all

when the train started moving
you didn't look back
you didn't look back
camps May 8
a breeze scatters the ashes from my cigarette
all over my legs and onto the ground
now they make tiny mountains of rubble
along with burning villages where it's lights out
before their inhabitants could even think
of worshipping the sun

parting lovers never have much to say
but i think i'll write their names somewhere
and forge my signature on a love letter meant
for an ocean that is inexhaustibly rocking
while cursing the moon for always pushing it away
when it's just trying to fill her craters

the spoils of history go towards making
impermanent things permanent on things
impermanent like the arms of those unknown
and like my backpack swallowing pens
maybe it wouldn't happen if we stopped
romanticizing the ink

my body falls in pieces from the heavens while
you're on earth mingling with the best of them
and it's not until halfway through a cosmopolitan
that you realize you forgot to catch me and
now the ants on the ground are getting stuck
on a love that could have been

have you ever noticed the shape of hearts
gives them a symmetry that makes them
capable of being folded and neatly tucked away
out of all the people you've met in your life
how many of them would you reach in your pocket
and unfold one for

if there's a reason i've melted it's because
my cigarette tastes an awful lot like you
new version of an older poem

from my book anywhere but here
camps May 3
going outside nowadays is just a game of
who can hold their breath the longest and of
looking for reasons to pass the time in your
own backyard but the gardens i see are only for
the literary muses haunting writers into submission
and for digging up holes with plastic shovels and
for wishing that i could pick up the daisies
and place them in your hair

i was in the middle of drawing a circle when
my arm quivered and now the line shoots
way past the paper and it's currently
undulating over my desk and zooming past
a caterpillar that's contemplating whether the
process of becoming beautiful would actually
make him beautiful when he already knows
that he is beautiful

i hope the god i pray to forgives me for
making all the lines i write be about you
this poem makes me picture a certain someone
title inspired by a certain someplace

from my new book anywhere but here
  Feb 12 camps
E
hello friends! i haven't been here in a while
but it's not like i was very active anyway.

just wanted to drop by and let u know
that i've posted the synopsis & the mood
boards of my first book, kindred hearts,
which is a contemporary novel about
loss & grief, mental health, friendship,
and the journey to self-love & healing.

i haven't been writing a lot of (free-verse)
poetry these days, but it'd mean the world
to me if u can check out my book too.

thank u & ily
stay safe!
here's the link for any curious souls out here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/258236928-kindred-hearts
  Feb 3 camps
gabby
last week, a black car
appeared out of nowhere
while i was riding my bike
on a busy street.
the headlights burnt my eyes
and my fingers clung to
the handle bar.

i think i died once then.
i passed the initiation.
now, it is time to risk.

this thing with two wheels
is everything i own.
New York is 200 miles away.
i am going to ride the bike
that once brought me to death
to the most golden
point.
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