family
3 posts
18th
Poetry
my grandfather’s arms were the first street I grew up on / parallel and stretched out / ready for me to run into
Ode to Hand-Me Down Clothes: It's Perfect
Poetry
It’s perfect. Almost too much space. No there’s never too much space.
To Build A Home
Poetry
I pretend I don't know you, and connect as little as I can with you because I don't want to feel that same detachment again.
Thanks for Subscribing