It’s not love if it makes your skin crawl.

If you find him talking about himself more than asking about you.

It’s not love if you have to remind him to call.

Because if he cared, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you too.

I’m no expert and I’ve had my fair share of pain.

But if he loved you, you wouldn’t feel this way.

It hurts right now because you feel his distance

wishing more than anything that you could change his mind.

But you are more than the affirmations you aren’t getting from this man.

It’s not love if he constantly makes you cry.


I see what you’re doing.

I know that you’re using me.

Do you think that I am too naive to understand your late night phone calls?

That when your full attention in the bedroom shifts to unresponsiveness

I don’t realize what I am to you?

I am a first generation college graduate, first generation graduate student, full time professional, head fucking bitch.

I grew up without a father, not due to lack of love rather lack of luck.

I survive, I persevere, and I make it look effortless.

But don’t you mistake for one minute the value of the person you’re using

the body you’re taking for granted.

The voice on the other line.


It is the addiction that crave.

When I love someone it consumes me.

Staying up all night talking

I want to know more, more.

I am good at beginnings.

Intriguing, inquisitive, charming, sexy.

It’s the middle and ends that I struggle with.

Grasping to every word, uncomfortable with the space developing.

Why haven’t I heard from you, whats happening in your head?

It’s that consumption that drives my insecurities.

Making me the worst version of myself.

No longer am I mysterious, no longer am I cool.

I transform into a sad, big eyed thing

looking for any form of interest to hold on to.

The beginnings though, boy I am good at the beginnings.


People using people for their own gain

throwing them away once their needs are met.

People using people to get ahead, feel wanted.

But people using people leave those people feeling broken.

People using people are the worst kind of people.

Selfish people, ugly people, narcissistic troublesome people.

No people is better than bad people.

And bad people are better than you.


Full of life and emotion I always felt too much.

When I love, its oceans.

When I am upset, fireĀ floats to my toes and finger tips.

And in the blink of an eye, it’s gone.

I no longer feel the water flowing freely, the burning in my hands.

I’m floating in the worst way

numb to all emotion.

As I sit here drifting I wonder what inside of me has changed.

How can I turn it all back on?

But the truth is, maybe I’m better off.

Daddys Girl.

I’ve tried to write about you dozens of times.

But nothing I say can do it justice.

I have memories, I do, but they are all fuzzy and weak.

I remember you dangling me from my ankles, held upside down, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

I remember you folding me into the couch, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Baby toes in the green soft grass, joking with you, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

I remember late night calls, hidden candy bars, silly nicknames.

David Letterman. Sammy dudes. Endless Football.

I remember being woken up in the middle of the night because you crashed your car.

I remember Emergency rooms. X-Rays. I remember when we found out you were sick.

I remember your balding head. Too sick to play. Swollen feet.

I remember your funeral. The song that played as we processed in.

I remember hearing you were gone, saying “why me” repeatedly.

Finding hidden candy. Ash trays left around the house. All of the sad looks for months and months.

It’s been a lifetime without you. I still don’t know how to stop missing you. I may never be whole because of your absence. I am trying, I promise I am trying for you.