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Growing Up
I think wistfully about what I will be like when I grow up. Clean credit cards, a clean sink that gleams, as if it has never glimpsed a dirty dish, a son, settled into sleep (I am so convinced it is a boy), while I write, perched on the windowsill, singing softly to my assorted…
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Laying in the bed that she made all alone – A Poem For Gabbie Hanna
Applause is not instant, and to you, that is an insult. The damsel who demands attention but does nothing to keep it, nailing names to the bottom of expensive shoes and trampling through mud, just to make sure that you stay relevant. Oh, wayward winter child, it’s all such a hardship, isn’t it? Lost in…
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Torn Pages
I tell people that I am an open book, but a book that needs translating, because it’s easier than explaining why the ink has run and the pages are torn. I just don’t let them look. “The book is open…” I say “But avert your eyes.” They won’t understand. I won’t know how to tell…
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Making Pasta With Morrissey
This is such an old story, so predictable, well trodden boards, and all that, but I gather everyone I know and I tell it again anyway, because my heart feels like she has never been heard. I am currently attempting to live in the moment. I am currently attempting to “have fun” and enjoy being…