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.
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
even if shit continues to hit the fan, pretty much everyone ends up exactly where they’re supposed to be. you will find a place to live, a job, a lover, friends, etc. just keep going and it will be ok.
