The Tendency to Overlook Quality


I like the way a pen looks on paper,

but it’s far too slow to keep up with the words that I think.

It’s kind of like the way I like to walk around a bookshop,

even though I hardly ever stop to read.

I’m much too busy absorbing the beauty of the way the stacks look all lined up.

Maybe that’s why I pick things out of convenience,

like typing on a computer.

Maybe that’s why I like things that are pretty on the outside,

like people.

Except when you find out that they don’t have the same quality

as a word that’s been written in black ink.




This is what it’s like to be a writer.

Not wanting to leave my computer

because every thought that’s racing through my brain

needs to be typed,

and if it doesn’t,

my head might explode.

Nobody as self-indulgent as me

could ever let that happen.

I’m too absorbed in my own mind.

So here is a half-assed apology

for all of the things I have missed

and to all of the people I have bailed on.

I just can’t control myself when my words take over.



I wear an anchor on my neck

just like I wear my heart on my sleeve.

They say it symbolizes strength and stability,

that it marks the end of a long journey.

It reminds me

that only I can hold myself steady

when the ocean waves tirelessly rock the ship

that carries the experiences of my life.

Back and forth it sways,

but it does not sail away

because of me.

I am the anchor.

Some days I brave the expanse of the ocean,

with the knowledge that I can drop to the bottom of the sea

whenever I please

and make friends with the fish.


Purple Silk

When I was a little girl,

I used to wear purple, silk dresses on Easter

to go to church with my slightly religious parents.

We took pictures in front of the Japanese Maple tree.

Year after year,

it was always the same.

But now that I am grown up,

I spend Easter mornings thinking about things

that are much more shallow

than anything biblical

and committing sins

that I was told I should “wash away.”

When Tenderness Meets Resistance

You tell me all the things I need to hear,

like how much like you my face,

the words that come out of my mouth,

how you like my hips and stomach,

the two things I used to hate about myself.

I wish I could warn you

not to get yourself in trouble

by saying the right things to me,

when we both know that this is going to turn out wrong.

But I don’t want you to go,

because I’m so helplessly in lust with you,

so I’ll use my lips for others things instead.