I’ve known you for a year and I don’t even know your middle name

she keeps a list

of everyone

whose lips

have touched hers


I thank god

I am not

a part

of that



there are parts of me

hidden beneath bike tires

garden hoses

that I cannot retrieve


pieces I could never match

to the dents in my porcelain

scattered across the ground


I love you

I love you I love you

forgive me


I dont break

I shatter

i think you’re more honest with your tumblr followers than with me

I want to hear every story about your whole life

tell me again

about the time you ran away from home

when you were 11

carrying nothing but a duffel bag of stuffed animals

and kraft singles

tell me again

about the heartbeat of the railroad tracks

the way the rain

kissed your face

from the open window

tell me again

how you’d like to run away with me

feel that heartbeat thump-thump-thumping again

feel me kissing your face

instead of the rain.

this is not a poem. this needs to be said.

A reaction to the #metoo campaign on social media:

If social media is the only way to get through to you, I hope that you can see how deep an issue this truly is.

If you knew me in high school, you might know part of this story.

This is not something that I have talked about quite this publicly before, but I feel that the time is right. I am safe. I am okay. I am ready to hold people accountable for their actions. When I was 16 years old, I was sexually assaulted by someone I was dating, and I was the first person to not believe that it had happened. I took three hot showers after it happened, wept, and didn’t speak of it for a year. After that year, I began having flashbacks. I remembered what I was wearing, where it had happened, what I was thinking.

The first time I tried to reclaim my voice, my assaulter outed this story to everyone we knew, telling them that I was crazy and a liar. All of a sudden, people looked at me differently than they had before. I could hear the whispers. I was completely alone, and very few people believed me.

I have spent too long making excuses for my assaulter. The truth is, there is no excuse for what happened to me. There is no excuse that anyone can make that will make anyone’s rape or assault okay. So I’m here now. I’m ready to talk about this. The way that we make change is by holding these people accountable, and by believing those who come forward.

To those of you who believed me, thank you.

To those of you who share in “me too,” I see you. I believe you.

And, my god, you are loved. You are so, so loved.

this is just to say

tw: sexual assault

I hate you


when I say I hate you

I really mean

you’re okay


when I say you’re okay

I really mean

I like you

I like you a whole lot

and when I say I like you a whole lot

I really mean

I love you


when I say I love you

I mean

I adore you

I adore you with every fiber of my being

I feel you when you’re away

as if I have another heart beating outside of my body

the strings I have yet to sever


And when I say I have yet to sever them

I really mean

you have not let me go


And when I say you have not let me go

I really mean

I can still feel your hands around my throat

I mean

I can still see the bruise in the shape of a hand on my left wrist

I mean

I can’t remember why I didn’t yell for your grandmother in the next room

I mean

I wore combat boots that day

I mean

I haven’t let anyone touch me like that

I mean

When I see you I am 15

I mean

I am still yours


This is just to say

when I say you let me down

you did not break me


This is just to say

when I say no

I really mean