It all started when I forgot Math. The test before me seemed like a jungle of numbers I could not comprehend. And my hands… My hands were no longer my hands. The scales that formed upon them couldn’t weigh a single grain of sand. Answers seemed like a quest in a foreign place I learned […]Read more "Shape Shifter"
I carry my Rubik’s cube everywhere I go. I like the way it feels between my fingers. Smooth. I like the ‘stop and click’ it makes when I twist it. One, two, four, five…twist ‘click’ twist…One, two, four, five…twist ‘click’ twist. [Repeat, repeat]. Sometimes I feel naked, absent, without it. Though I’ve never bothered to actually solve it. […]Read more "Rubik’s Cube"
I write romantic things for privileged women who call themselves girls much passed their girlhood. They read with me. They stare at the make-up on their faces. We are made up and lined. Every day, new lines. Crooked lines. Curved lines. Lines lines lines. I pray to whatever god I believe in that day for […]Read more "Romance Novelist"
Time rants and Time rages. Time commits and acquits in stages; all in a dog’s day of Summer. Time’s ideas are static, though his body frantic. His mouth, always in motion. Time gives and Time takes. Time makes love and flakes love; all in a dog’s day. Time wanders in wonder and then falls apart; […]Read more "Time Rants"
It was some time. Not the best. Not the worst. Just Time. And though there were times I knew I brought out the worst in Time, Time was, as Time is; incredulous, omnipresent and overwhelmingly ostentatious. I despised Time. Yet I had no knowledge or reason or clarity of what Time felt of me. I […]Read more "Tick Tock"
Time swiftly navigated the cold tile floor of the room they called mine and positioned himself at the side of the bed that was assigned to me. He adjusted his oval reading glasses and from his hip revealed a pen. With a click of the hammer, Time readied his instrument and prepared for notetaking on […]Read more "Time’s Iris"
I walk the edge of the crowd watching for cracks in the pavement like a child. And like a child, I stare at the ostentatious drunkery that dances around me. I convince myself that I am within myself and outside of everything else. I tell stories in my head about the people I see and […]Read more "Hope for Love is My River of Slime"