✽

your words settled into my stomach, a protective lining for growing hope. now, gritty sand.

collecting/believing words has always been problematic for me. as i grow older, i trust words less and less, but i still love them. the intention. their shapes and sounds. how they roll in the mouth, hang on the tongue. rarely accurate, but always striving. 

candy striped neon hot and burning the soles of my feet tar stink scarves trailing the wind flags fluttering eyelids too thin skin wrinkled by smiling squinting hand to block the sun how bright how bright a flame people want to be near and capture and stare


a little bit of a large chunk removed from a letter. not sure why i want to put it here when i did not keep it there. maybe because i'm more removed now.