You felt like places I’ve never been to

like cities that look the same

and cobble stones under heels



C’était comme coup de foudre

Et c’était un truc de fou

I thought I was in love with him many times

I thought I’d fallen at the very first syllable he’d spoken

And I thought, impossibly, I fell deeper the moment he’d said :

“When you think your lungs can’t handle any more,”

A pause, to close the distance between us

A second, for his soft hands to stretch the length of the sides of my face

A single shared breath

“Remember that lungs are meant to expand.”

I wished I’d seen then, that, that had been our end

I wanted be like the heroines from the stories I read as a kid

Where Love was an all-consuming act portrayed in ways that would’ve made the Greeks proud

I wanted to be in a world where I could be the woman standing on a cliff

A sword drawn ready for battle

Brave and fierce

I wanted to flash– like lighting ripping the sky in half

Tearing the fabric of the universe to save the one I couldn’t live without

I thought if I could be glorious, like Achilles, I could harness the wrath of avenging angels

I could be like the stories I heard on Sunday morning.

If I could just be similar to Michael

Slamming iron into demons

Crushing the merciless

Pulverizing what perverted innocence

Vested in golden armor, lit by moonlight, a warrior waging righteousness

If I could just wear the sun cloaked around my shoulders, then, then I could shine holy vengeance onto earths pockets of Hell

It took me a long time to realize

That, that was what I’d already been.

What it feels like to create

It feels like turning out your insides

Using your organs to write

Using your energy to move

It feels like everything that no one cared to ask about

It feels like exploding and reassembling

What it feels like to create

Is like trying to use a language that doesn’t work

Trying to fit letters into words that can’t encompass

Like bending things to make things

Like melting things to fit things together

What it feels like to create

Like falling and the chord tethering to the bridge breaks


Old Levi’s and worn sweaters

Matter changing fibers in fabric

Fables change chivalrous knights’ behavior

Winter dreaming of snow falls

Sleet and ice rinks

Loving humans who can’t love you

Hurting in ways that can’t be deciphered

Etching and scolding, ebbing and flowing

towards restitution of

Old Levi’s and weathered sweaters

Millennial probs

I think we we look for stability in other people
I turn a corner down Blvd Raspail 

I avoid the street that has that pizza shop we passed by last night

Because it reminds me that you’re not here now

I both dislike and like that we have memories here 

I both am ready and will never be ready to leave Paris

I have a gift, I form intense connections with people and places in short periods of time 

And I always only ever stay in one place for short periods of time

I spent a month surrounded by people 

I return now to 2 weeks of solitude 

I am not a solitary creature and so I meander 

I take the long routes home 

I pretend to go into stores where I cannot afford to buy things

A familiar weight of poverty and loneliness 

That comes from being both alone and hungry 

–And not having remedies for either–settles over and within  me

Because when I said I think we look for stability in other people 

I meant we find consolation

I meant we discover solidarity 

I meant we forget how terrifyingly large the world is without other people

I meant with people its easier to tell yourself things will be fine

Now though, alone, as I ascend the stairs of my 6th floor walk up

things don’t seem fine anymore

I want to hoard the five hundred euros have in a plastic bag in my tiny room because it’s all I got in this world 

It’s all that is perceivably positive amongst the mounting turmoil of having credit and student loan debit, 4$ in my bank account, and no job prospects

I think this is where people say you’ll make a great comeback 

This is the pitfall, the bottom where the rocks lay

But my heart races as I think about my bank statement 

The gold nail polish I painted on are already chipping,

I have to throw out my birks because all the cork has peeled away,

And my email tells me my royalties from Amazon will be deposited in 5-10 business days. 

Only three people have purchased the book I never intended to sell

And 4$ times 3 won’t make the minimum payment on my credit card anyway 

Ive reached the top of the stairs

I walk the hallway and plop my key into the slit 

The door clicks open

I step over the threshold, turn on the shower 

And drink the hunger, loneliness, and stress of finishing my Masters thesis in five days away 

I tell myself I’m not hungry 

I drink the tea my mother purchased for me and eat the memories I have of me gorging on three meals a day when family had visited me and I visited them