one of my roommate is a poet & sometimes, days later, i find bits of our conversations in the poetry she writes. she likes to read us whatever she’s working on before bed. i often fall asleep in the quiet that follows, thinking about how lucky i’ve become to live in a space where queer being and longing flows freely and abundantly
my college apartment recently had bed bugs (we’ve been cleared thankfully, but at the cost of our sanity😍)
anyways flipped our apartment on its back and i found my old journals. i published some words & poems i rediscovered
check it maybe? it’s a lot of navigating “being”
i am literally at a poetry reading and my roommate is my only audience and also it's in my kitchen and i always get snaps. sometimes you look back on the things you write and recognize that, yes, you are talented and, yes, it is good to share.
