child of the north.
the quiet.
I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.
Entries 60
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anti-virus. in 110.
A lot changed for me that day. My first peek at a perfect “ten” stuffed in the folds of my bed, a Gideon Bible it was not. Mom was home from the nine-to- “sometime” and frantically affixing favo...
8:46 in the morning. in 110.
It was basic chemistry, really. I was sitting in class, meekly going over Dr. Hale’s (“it’s Hale getting an A in this class”) notes on ionic bonds and the chemistry between sodium and chlorine fo...
delectable sundrops. in 110.
I could chew the sweat off the nape of your neck, a place I lingered far, far too long. I kept a reservation on standby there, daring for another taste of your salt, your cure, your lust. I alway...
red sky, morning. in 110.
Goddamn you, florescence. Basting my eyes with such artificial glaze. I knew better than to answer the sirens shrilling, shilling some breathless lies of a new dawn, a new fawn to fawn over ...
crafting. in moving and feeling.
I’m taking a poetry writing class in the fall for college. So. This journal is about to revive with a flood of poems for the next seven months, starting with an excursion via Tom Hunley’s “The Po...
east johnson. in moving and feeling.
the last rites of frat nights echo across brick and bare their spastic souls onto the transit lines, churning. once, you dashed through powder, white, across a playground. you wailed, as i danced...
tiny weights, looming. in moving and feeling.
this is the first personal entry i think i’ve ever written on here, other than my very first entry some nine years prior. i’m having surgery on wednesday. my first surgery ever. i’ll be gone for ...
charon. in moving and feeling.
i’ve never floated quite so clean than when the water ends my dream.
shinju. in moving and feeling.
we were going away down south to the crags where Missy May flung herself down south to the drags we flicked our toes at the edge writing our names in the night swatting fireflies away because to ...
nix. in moving and feeling.
“keeping the moon at bay, tonight.” you whispered, with your arms splayed ‘round my shoulders. you puffed at my hair that obstructed the light, washing it off my brow for a moment. the marquee’s ...
kerberos. in moving and feeling.
“tiny little speck of a thing,” she said, cooing into the mist. in the distance, a glimmer.
resurgence. in moving and feeling.
i told you, baby. we just needed to wait in the wings. nestle up together and hibernate through the fallout. we’re nourished by the dew of time, as the days melt into months. we stumbled, yeah. ...
carved bark. in moving and feeling.
the creek water splashed onto my toes, as we trampled along tiny kingdoms of algae and tadpoles. we made it to the tire swing, and I pushed you skyward, and we’d laugh for a while. it always fade...
unkempt sundresses. in moving and feeling.
I wish I still held some pockmark on your porcelain skin, so that any time I caught a glimpse of you in passing I’d see that stain that I left on your life and know that I’m not something you can...
we can't help you here. in moving and feeling.
but i keep telling you i’m not well, and you keep telling me oh well, it’s hell being unwell, ain’t it? you kept clutching my hand too tight when we were parked over the lookout point and you kep...
the death of you. 4. in moving and feeling.
I sat in the corner of my bedroom nook, comfortably smashed into a violet bean bag chair as I flicked a screen over and over again, pouring over as much data as I could about the “ZeRoSeRuM” trea...
the death of you. 3. in moving and feeling.
The rocking chair on Meemaw’s porch has these wonderful little grooves warn into the arms of the decade’s old maple. I sat in the chair, absent-mindedly pushing off from the floor of the porch to...
and we'll sell the spite to the sailors at morning. in moving and feeling.
can you catch a feverish rage in the palm of your hand and poke it around like a pillbug, making it docile with nary an effort? i keep getting told these tall tales, that emotions are these simpl...
the death of you. 1-2. in moving and feeling.
Every time I went to Rei’s Lake, I told myself it would be the last time I’d bother. And yet, whether it took a day, a year, or something in between, I’d find myself shuffling my sneakers along t...
we could watch the sun melt. in moving and feeling.
charred hunks of lunkheads dotting the beach, we tiptoe through the sands, hand in hand, giggling to ourselves as we look for a nook to cook in. i nestle into our towel, frilly, weathered, waitin...
iris thunderstorms. in moving and feeling.
we’ve been locked in battle for some time now, i keep catching that glint in the shadows, you’re peering right at me, inspecting my imperfections with ripe aplomb, knowing that i’m too weak to tr...
i haven't the time. in moving and feeling.
a blotch of blood and bleh on the clay, decay this half a life I’ve lived down to a speck, let it linger and flit around the summer breeze, floating from face to place until it leaves no trace. b...
of rain and fickle things. in moving and feeling.
you remember when we’d go off to Carey’s? grab a few dogs, some fries, a few shakes, eschew the napkins and condiments, and take our sack of malnourishment and walk up the hill by the square? we’...
post martyr. in moving and feeling.
you’ve put in your time. salted away your skin and soul for paper and purpose. you didn’t waste away in vain, you tell yourself in the bathroom mirror. you created. you existed. you survived and ...
another date night. in moving and feeling.
you’d think this song and dance would grow weary, by now. we’ve been to all these haunts a thousand times. there’s a faint groove in the steps up to the landing. where we keep grinding our sneake...
