#movingout
In the van upstate, there’ll be one shoebox of my past.
I pack the small pencil box, previously holding a stack of Polaroids, full of photos until it struggles to close.
I fill my phone case with paper and tape my shoebox closed.
My past cannot fit into who I will become,
And who would I be without my past?
Perhaps I’ll make a new shoebox, empty the old one, and fill it up to the tape again.
Jan 25
Jan 25, 2026 at 9:41 PM UTC
I think I have time
My anatomy teacher rushes us both out, each lesson taking a day or two away
Every lunch slips through my hands, another conversation eaten to crumbs
Weekly debates leave like words out of my mouth, meeting my own resistance like a cross examination
But I think I have time
Time to plot trains and buy bus tickets
Make playlists for up and down the coast
Feel spring grasp the winter Virginia air like a lover
Let my gown drape over my capped head, let my class year flow out of my mouth freely
I’ll paint in class and I’ll take them home in May
Let red flowing out of a paintbrush in the art class sink just be paint
Let my past red flow down that drain, lose it like I lost that blood
I’ll eat lunch, leave grease stains in my tray, let your words stain me
We’ll have stupid conversations, like which actor’s hotter and who at our school’s dropping out
And I’ll let myself miss them next year
You gave me bracelets and I’ll wear them
I’ll put them on every morning and think of you when I do
Because at the end of the day, I have time
Jan 9
Jan 9, 2026 at 8:55 PM UTC
I am stuck
in a rutt
the identity
which no longer feels like me.
She doesn’t clean
is hardly ever seen
making a healthy choice,
so when she does they rejoice
clap and cheer
supposedly sincere.
She knows they care,
but it’s because of that she doesn’t dare
change her ways
in all of her days.
so here she sits
digging herself a deeper pit,
of low expectation
low appreciation
no admiration
just pure desperation,
to get out
so she can shout
‘I’m free
and there’s no one here to see!’
A place of her own,
a carefully curated home
where there is every chance
of a little spontaneous dance,
or kitchen karaoke
okidokiartichokie.
Anything goes
an endless prose
of dreams,
finally redeemed.
Tidy places
and new friendly faces
which have no clue
'cos they’re new
and there’s no one here to skew,
the way in which they view
the life she created
and now holds sacred.
The food she eats,
the place she choses to sleep.
She is kind
and likes to find
hidden spots to go
and let the ink flow.
And she can share
her work with care
because she doesn’t have to care
who is going to care.
If they think
she is starting to sink,
or not doing enough
behind the endless bluff
then go
you're not someone she has to know.
Nobody new
will turn her blue.
That doesn't mean the people she knew
turned her blue.
She put herself in that box,
but then forgot
how she got in,
as under her grin
she started to grow.
Beyond what she could show.
So go,
somewhere unknown.
Be new and sparkly,
find someone to kindly
sparkle with you,
and never allow the gloom
anywhere near
wherever you steer
together.
Find a new forever
that is not set in stone
and will allow us to grow.
Never get stuck
in a rutt,
the identity
is now forever free
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 3:50 PM UTC
We're moving house— he takes you a-
Part, piece by piece, picking, pulling, long thin
Steel supports from your joints. He holds you together,
unforgiving tenderness in steel arms as you crumple into a
pile of wood.
It's done— he waves a *****
Driver, drilling in reverse, you watch him work
Metal out from your bones, skeleton scattering limbs about the
floor, which he meticulously collects and arranges, good as
new, unassembled.
Thanks for the help, you've been——it's alright, see you soon.
Next time, I'll take the bed.
We're moving house— you are driven a-
Round, missing a turn, new place, unfamiliar
Sights you do not see, your eyes on the frame in the back (of
your mind) as the van stops and your bare bones unload
onto a trolley.
It's done— you pay a hundred in two fif-
Ties, broken like the bed tugged through the new
Doorway and left in the living room, with the parts laid out
neatly beside on cold marble, readied for examination and
elimination, remnants
of a time past—
When, can you collect your——next week at the earliest,
evening, Wednesday. I'll bring a van.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 4:35 AM UTC
There was suddenly sun spilling all over,
and suddenly hyacinths everywhere.
I have watched everything change so slowly
that nothing ever seemed to move at all,
and in my obstinate blindness, I didn't notice
that the ground had thawed, never mind that it had begun
to bleed spring.
I have never seen spring.
In all honesty, I have never lived
in any sort of weather –
only the starched, air-conditioned bedroom
in my parents' sickeningly stereotypical suburban concoction
of a house, where nothing –
not the dusty closed blinds or even
a blade of grass – ever moved at all.
Here, there are magnolia trees that move,
swaying in soft rhythm.
They have peeled themselves like vinyl stickers off
the backs of my windowpanes, and they really are
alive. I know because they wave to me
in flurries of dip-dyed pink petals –
like a good diaphragm-laugh,
or maybe like a good cry.
I have never laughed,
or cried.
But I cry at everything now –
now that I see it is all alive.
It must be what happens when you start living
alone – growing pains –
I imagine the hyacinths must get growing pains, too,
from exploding like purple fireworks
out of the frozen soil in
no time at all.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 1:31 AM UTC
I sat in my car
Wanting to leave
But just for a minute
I put on a song to make me cry
And I shed a tear
A stupid tear
For moving forward
For not being the person
You wanted me to be
So I cried
And let my tears match the rain
Pattering on my windshield.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC
I sometimes wonder when I leave this house
Will there really be a hole that can't be filled
An absence of this mess I've left
Will I miss the taunting?
When im flying above this state, above this country,
I live for the moment I see how small my problems are
And watch as they fade away and disappear under the clouds
Will I feel fear or relief?
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 12:33 AM UTC
When I’m 18, I’m moving out.
Away from this home, Without a doubt.
It drives me insane, unable to be who I want to be.
Controlling my life, keeping me from my dreams.
When I’m 18, I’m going away.
Away from this home, I don’t want to stay.
It’s not that I’m in danger, I just want to leave.
Start up my life, I want clean air to breathe.
When I’m 18.
I’m going away.
Away from this home...
That has made me astray.
Kept me for years,
I’ve shed so many tears.
I just wish to leave,
And that’s all I believe.
For when i’m 18.
I’m finally going away.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
The remote control looks different
Television has 20 new channels
The side table is not on the right side of the long bench anymore
Her favorite mug is now a vase
Her spoon and fork are not in the drawer
No cookie crisps in the cupboard
No kimchi in the fridge
Things were different from when she still lived here
Things were different from three years ago
Everyone is soundly sleeping upstairs
Her old room is now her cousin's
Her old bed is now her sister's
She will sleep on the floor
But she couldn't find the mattresses
She doesn't know where to look
But she looks everywhere
She couldn't find it
Exhaustion and frustration seeps in
“Where are the mattresses?"
She screams in her head
Tears start streaming down her cheeks
She wants to sleep now
She wants to rest
She wants to feel home.
But she doesn't. She couldn't.
She doesn't know where the sheets are
She couldn't find where the sheets are.
“I don't live here anymore. This is not home."
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC