Halfway in every direction.
Home Button

I sit in a coffee shop
Next to artwork and apple products
People whisper over plastic lattes
An empty chair. 

In the overflowing coffee shop
The guy next to me flexes his tattooed arms
And uses “selfie” and “ex-girlfriend” in the same sentence
I cringe with hypocritical disgust. 

I wish my fingers didn’t crawl back to the addictive screen.
I wish the click of the home button wasn’t habitual.
I wish the trifecta of social media apps had no meaning to me.
I wish I had more self-control,
Something more like you. 

If I could count up all the minutes spent staring at my phone while with you,
I’d slap myself.
Swiping digits back and forth across a glass screen,
Instead of letting them learn every crevice and bump of your skin. 

Memories inevitably start to fade.
I want my fingers to remember the shape of your cheekbones
The softness of your lips
The little brown bump that I secretly love.
I think my fingers are forgetting.
And yet they’ll never forget where the fucking home button is.

i am utterly forgettable. i am the girl you thought was cute. i am the girl you liked for a week. i’m that one.


I feel like I already know exactly how this will play out. It’s unclear whether that’s helpful or cynical of me. Same patterns with different people. Or maybe I’m being overly optimistic, wrongly-assuming, something of that sort. 

just a small town girl. Living in a racist, insensitive, sexist, homophobic world,

(cant take the midnight train ‘cause im fuckin scared)

I’ve discovered an underlying feeling I have of constant anxiety of the present situation. I fear that if I am not content with my person today, there is absolutely no way of someday reaching a point of comfort. I wish I could convince myself to be comfortable in the silence or noise of my own thoughts, force myself to not crave the sickly sweet satisfaction of feeling included.


would you recognize that eerie chill of thinking of something painful and repulsive and letting that feeling engulf you, and actually cause causing a physical reaction. or would you pass it off as a fucking joke. this wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. my ability to accurately express is diminishing. maybe i’m growing dumber. no, i’m definitely getting dumber, the question is why. and it is a question i cannot answer because i am dumb. i have theories, but then again i must not because dumb people can’t have theories that’s work for all the smart people to concern themselves with.