We were young, so we hiked. We hiked up mountains in stiff dusty boots, down mountains into small hillbilly towns, and into resorts unwelcoming to hikers. When we got tired of hiking we hitched. With unemployed young lovers, with families, and with hippies towing a fifth wheel and an unusual number of bicycles. We accepted … Continue reading
Hiking: an initial synopses.
1. Mountains are big. Really big. 2. People who make maps probably don’t hike. 3. Pick a good partner and just laugh. Continue reading
Build Some Stuff!
So this is a piece I’ve scaffolded (meaning it isn’t completely original- I’ve linked the original version). I’d never scaffolded before (and this is actually the worked-out version, so it’s no longer “technically” scaffolding) BUT it turns out scaffolding is a super fun exercise and I recommend it. Also, I just said “scaffold” so many … Continue reading
He likes strawberries and syrup. He likes to hold me when he’s spent. Warming all my bitter into worship. His hair is my favorite color to drown in, his mind my favorite scent. He likes strawberries and syrup while I like my coffee black, akin to nothing inside of him but torment. He warms all … Continue reading
So in my creative writing class right now we’re working on little memoir triptychs and since I don’t get to turn in everything I write for a grade, I figured I would just post my excess on here. Ta da! (And these don’t have titles because I hate coming up with titles. That’s all.) It … Continue reading
And this is the part where I rant about rape.
Welcome to the new school of education, one in which we’re teaching women how to hide. Dress well, and try to disguise the fact that you might have a sex drive. Because if we see it, if you reveal it in any way, a guy could rape you and we would have to say she … Continue reading
A Boy and His Mother. Part II.
Oh, he was broken and then he was lost. And maybe he is forever both, and though none would claim him he became his own man, rising from ash, from life blistered in fury and bedlam. Lawlessness. Recklessness. A heart wrought with tragedy. A bull in his wildness, a poet in his passion. Working to combine … Continue reading
I can’t write. I can’t assemble thoughts. I hear babies are dying. In first class schools and third world homes. I hear we’re not on the front lines. We aren’t dependent. We’re privileged and underwhelmed. We’re. So. Confident. My heart breaks with the broken hearted and it’s with them I want to assemble. I long … Continue reading
A Boy and His Mother: part I.
A woman not unlike many before and after her. Seeking. For love, for purpose, for passion, but mostly for love. You expected yourself to be stronger. You expected to be wiser, to see a different person in the mirror every morning. But then there you are, abused and tangibly pleading. To love enough. To be … Continue reading
That girl cray.
Oh, women. I can’t tell you how many discussions I’ve had with men about their crazy ex-girlfriend, or how many discussions I’ve had with women about men who call ex-girlfriends crazy. And I get it. We over analyze most things, have a tendency to be insecure, thus jealous, and have a flair for the dramatic. … Continue reading