every day i stare into my phone waiting for the call that will change my life. i removed the words “because i’m” and it changed everything. i’m always a little bit afraid of tomorrow. i keep thinking this year will be my year, every year. i can tell i’m talking to myself.

the people who work in the flower stores next to cemeteries are doing the real heavy lifting. when they die they’re like automatically student body president because all the dead people know them already. so don’t glamorize death. you have to pay your dues there too. but i understand.

have you ever wondered what a dead person’s favorite drink was and then been left to speculate because they’re dead? which one of your friends explained sex to you? or were you born post-1999 and you just googled it. on average, how many days after a person tells you they love you and you believe it till you assume their hatred?

i’m writing this to remember, next time, or the time after that that love has always got me down. fast to consume and not to digest. the fruitlessness of arguing with the help mirror is very much not lost on me –– so please don’t tell me i’m wrong. i know.

when do you know a language

still half-asleep and understanding death through a celebrity acquaintance. that’s how dead i am.

i implicate myself for the crime of not loving you. it’s complicated. i hate to complicate it more.

i hate existing today

if paris weren’t so far i’d say let’s go. but instead we stay in new york in our separate apartments all alone. alone except the voices beyond the wall. i can’t believe i feel so sad considering it all. i can’t afford dinner by myself. but i’m here, i’m here, it’s my fifth year. i can hardly afford to take the train to you. but we’re here, we’re here, let’s have another beer. la sounds so nice til you arrive. and then it’s like, what do i do with all this sunshine, and extra time? and you come right back to new york just to feel the noise again and i’m asking all my friends where do we go now? maybe i’m naive but i can’t imagine another life beside these apartment walls we can’t afford and talks we don’t remember.

level of crazy: listening to live photos for someone in the background

Here I was thinking I’m a bad daughter for ignoring the Floridian phone calls after sending my dad a letter last week. So I decide today to set out time between classes to call him back. I find a quiet place on campus to sit, unravel my headphones and click the red number in my missed calls. “Hi this is John from reward redemptions. You visited the site of my affiliate and I called to offer you a $100 rebate card.”

I’m sorry my boss thinks I don’t trust her
I’m sorry I danced last night
I’m sorry I’m white at an Afropunk after party
I’m sorry I didn’t say hi
I’m sorry a lady thought I told her to “wait” on the street when I was really talking to my dog
I’m sorry I didn’t clarify
I’m sorry I’m drinking
I’m sorry I don’t help more
I’m sorry I don’t call you
I’m sorry I don’t smile at my coworkers enough
I’m sorry that my things take up space in my apartment
I’m sorry that I’m taking up your space
I’m sorry I keep re-downloading the Facebook app
I’m sorry that when I told you my brother died, I almost said “rip lil peep” to cut the tension
I’m sorry I didn’t smile at you enough during the pitch meeting

“cystic acne and horrible tattoo ideas aside, he has potential“

sorry i’m not happy to hear you’re in love. i wish i was. (sorry and in love.)

never not enough just sometimes not right

the other night i went to a party. and at the party i met a guy with a camera who said he’d come from california to photograph the very same thing i’d written about. there was a backdrop at the party and he asked to take my photo in front of it. and i said sure. and i went to put my things down, a backpack, a jacket, a drink, a camera. and he said hold it, hold all your stuff. and i said okay. so i held the camera in my three leftmost fingers and the drink between my pointer and my thumb, the jacket draped over my right forearm and the bag hanging over my wrist. he told me later he was shooting black and white which gave me more hope for the photo he’d taken of me and then i felt narcissistic for thinking immediately of that. and then i thought a few days later after watching my sister carry my mom up the stairs after too much wine. after watching my mom cry in bed, after turning her sad tears into happy tears and then inevitably back to sad tears and when she pulled the cover over her head like a child. i thought, i wish you would hold all your stuff. hold it so i could see it. even if it had to be in black and white.

whatever