The Lonely Only (note: grammatical incorrections are purposeful)

Sitting in a bathroom on a closed-lidded toilet
listening to music, and singing along,
because it’s the only place (or at least the best place)
in my New York City apartment
that I feel that people are least likely to hear me singing.
Sometimes I need to sing.
Sometimes I need to sing sad songs about questioning identity, Continue reading “The Lonely Only (note: grammatical incorrections are purposeful)”


Restlessly monitoring my self-indulgent terror.

Sitting and thinking, tired of the idea of “thinking too much”.

What is that instinct that tells me that some kind or form of

destiny is pulling me somewhere?

Why do I feel it so strongly

and then to find that nothing happened.

I’m tired of myself.

Tired of the confusing contradictions.

Tired of the same patterns. Continue reading “10/29/17”