by Michael Drone “I don’t want to talk about it!” Usually when a homeless person walks up to me they just want money or food, something along those lines. This was a new tactic, so I bit. He didn’t seem like the average sort, wasn’t drunk or strung out, just looked like he had a … Continue reading Riches to Rags
This transitional period of time, between apartments. Where you’re living out of a bag of clothing, all of your stuff packed away, curtains stripped from the windows, movers scheduled for Sunday. It feels like you’re living in a home that is no longer yours. You’re an illegal squatter. An odd, odd limbo. Why does moving … Continue reading The Year Mark
i feel like a sometimes-poet. this day happens to to be one of those cloudy ones where all you want to do is roll up your sleeves and mindlessly scroll through your instagram, deleting photos of those moments where you were distinctly unhappy but posted smiles anyway. i'm on a deleting spree and i accidentally … Continue reading sometimes-poet
I had a crazy moment the other day. Well, it’s been a seemingly endless string of crazy moments, building up on one another to create this precarious tower that shook and rattled until it came crashing down – that’s what anxiety attacks feel like. You know exactly what’s happening, when it springs up on you. … Continue reading Letting Go of the Wall
what an emotional roller coaster today has been awake with a feeling of instant drunkenness and oddly bouncing off the walls, soaking in every extra degree that spring has been so kind as to bequeath to us hair disheveled eyes bright (from happiness or leftover morning tears?) coffee #1.5 but high on the charge r … Continue reading That’s Called Living
I’ve started to realize that I’m not good at writing just for the sake of writing. Every “expert” has told me that in order to become a truly great writer, you have to practice every day. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, they say, as long as you have created something on paper or write it on your (fancy shmancy) laptop. "Create, create, create!” the jackals say!
Frantically trying to remember how To write These are hands? What are they for? They feel empty, unused Has it been __ months already? Intertwine and get tangled So it's hard to let go So we laugh and squeeze tighter So Let me recall how this feels Rough? Soft? Indifferent? Even a slight pressure makes … Continue reading Synonyms.