Nonfiction:

“Two Goodbyes”

Excerpt:

Two years ago amidst a life-threatening virus and widespread isolation, I went to a hospital in Dallas to see my mom. It’d been communicated that it was touch and go. That she might not make it through the heart surgery she needed. 

Against my better judgment, I traveled the 45 minutes and masked up as though it’d protect my emotions too. 

Seeing my dad at the elevator waiting to guide me to my mom’s room was comforting but mostly because the way he was wearing his mask made him look like a duck. He was never a talker. He was like most dads, understated and calm when everyone else can’t seem to keep it together. That’s how I learned to read the way people feel in seconds but take days to write equations around mine.

He kept his head down, shoulders curled inward. Smile weak and eyes too dry. He was worried.

“We’re All Lego Pieces”

Excerpt:

We’re supposed to be saying goodbye but instead, Max lights up a cigarette in the parking lot of my apartment complex with its cratered asphalt and junk cars under tarp parked in the back. I have a complicated relationship with this parking lot: I hate it because it reminds me of strapping on roller skates as a lonely kid since my three siblings never wanted to hangout with me. But I also love this parking lot because it reminds me of learning how to change the oil of my dad’s old Chevy Lumina. I kick up a piece of the concrete with the toe of my Converse high-tops, a piece of silver duct tape the only thing keeping my shoes intact.

“Nice to Meet Me”

Excerpt:

It’s 2003 and I’ve fallen in love with Captain Jack Sparrow. Well, more accurately, I’m a 12 year-old who has a crush on Johnny Depp because he’s charming and hilarious while also managing to be incredibly attractive even though he’s portraying a dirty, swashbuckling pirate with a penchant for lying. One day, I want to marry this man because I believe this is what love is all about: obsessing over his every role and writing fanfiction where he stars as the main love interest in my own ridiculous story ideas. My fellow classmates know me as the girl who loves Johnny Depp with my Captain Jack Sparrow spiral and “Mrs. Depp” scrawled in messy cursive on the cover of my binders.

“Must Be Nice”

Excerpt:

“No one really cares about gender. Transgenders are the ones that are obsessed.”

First of all, fuck you. Second, “transgenders” is incorrect and it must be nice not feeling like you have to educate people about something so incredibly basic.  Third, our obsession is a direct retaliation to your obsession. If you weren’t so obsessed, so judgemental, so restrictive, we wouldn’t have to be obsessed. We could be whoever the fuck we want to be and not be labeled as “brave” for that. Our existence is a rebellion because of your obsession with what it means to be a “man”, a “woman” – as if those are buckets you can toss someone’s attributes into.

You can read the full version here: Must Be Nice

Poetry:

“The Bridge”

Excerpt:

Yesterday I wondered if I would ever get tired

Of hearing the TV show theme song, your ringtone

I never have and I never will

The sound hits me like a hammer to the solar plexus

Because I know that I can connect with someone again

The most comforting thing I’ve ever felt

Is not having to explain what I’m feeling

Being judgement free is my favorite kind of zoning ordination

And with us, its law

I love how much of a mystery you are sometimes

But I should know by now you aren’t a riddle I can solve

Rather, a complicated enigma that doesn’t need to be solved

It hope it’s enough that I can make you smile

When I say “That’s so you”

“Hard Restart”

Eventually you have to restart any sort of device

If you use it continuously without ever shutting it down

When your computer is lagging or glitching

You restart it and hope that’ll knock it back into shape

Why don’t we give people that same benefit?

“What Time Is It?”

The apartment complex is still and quiet

And you just now feel loose, relaxed

You’ve finished the six pack

Time to sway-stomp to the bathroom

Drop gracelessly to the seat and think about how sloppy you are

Mother would be so disappointed

That’s definitely not “lady-like”

A laugh erupts from you, a volcano of acid boiling with guilt