Brush my cheekbones

second day back at college. already hungover this morning. turns out i no longer have a shift to work on thursday evenings, so i went over to my dear friend kris’s to say hi and she was going over to her sister’s apartment to cook dinner and invited me to come. had way too much wine. like, no end in sight. oops. i was a nice hopeful optimistic drunk last night but spent a lot of time writhing in drunkenness on the bathroom floor and kristen is an excellent chef but i vomited everywhere out of intoxication. think i may have passed out for an hour because kristen said that’s how long i was in the bathroom for and i have no memory of it and no textual evidence either. go wild. finally got to meet kristen’s sister and all her roommates. they were all very animated and sweet. and they live in like this fantasy themed snow globe of an apartment. i felt like i was inside a dream. apologized to everyone but they didn’t care. love only. she took me home eventually and mia was awake and i wanted to tell her the world is our oyster and if she can feel it but she went to call her mom or something. doesn’t look like u-hauling it is gonna happen right now but that’s okay. she said, we can get an apartment together in the summer. or that she’s staying for summer term (it’s like a month) and i should too and we can go live at her beach house for whatever time we have in between. i said, okay. i’ll do anything. i left my shoes in a public bathroom cause they’re dripping wet. slept well but mia’s insomnia woke me up but it was still good. had to focus extra hard hard last night but i have willpower when i’m fucking sleeping. hangover activities included getting up for class an hour and a half early, bloody showering in the morning, sitting through three brand new lectures, drinking coffee and video chatting with rhi who was impressed that i can do that in public, and trying and failing to get a job at the flower shop. cheers. i’m on a bus now. let’s see where it takes us. x




hello. i have arrived back at college and the obstacles are like BANG BANG BANG BANG. i’m accidentally stuck in an english seminar where we only discuss the arctic. i also mentioned the possibility of switching to kris’s room with the downstairs kitchen to mia and i don’t think she was into the idea so now my friend is gonna be mad and everything’s my fault. i’m not upset either way, though. i didn’t want to lose mia. so it’s my fault but it’s not my fault. also, the arctic?!?!


Don’t take my hand, you jerk~

You know going to a new place won’t change you immediately? Wrap your head around it. Watching you beat yourself up is fucking killing me.

But I beat myself up more than you.

No, I don’t. That’s a lie. I’ve spent my whole life making up excuses for myself just so I could live with it. I’ve perfected it.

Is anything I write true? I don’t know. I don’t care.

I don’t really know how to ask for what I want, so I just won’t.


The World’s Talent Is To Break Your Heart

dear _________,

a is for you seem to be constantly forced into awful situations.

b is for oh my god, you’re bleeding.

c is for cards. revealed all your cards to me. fool.

d is for i don’t feel dragged down. (sure.) you’re obviously dealing with something right now. (always.)

e is for you n e e d a t h e rapist.

f is for i want you to stay forever.

g is for generally wear my heart on my sleeve. (clearly.)

h is for i hang on your every word. (who doesn’t.)


j is for just a consciousness that isn’t really anything.

k is for this water bottle belongs to the KKK.

l is for it’s not like i’m leaving you for someone else. (.)

m is for i don’t think we’re meant to be together. (.)

n is for never change. never. i never get out what i wanted to say to you. never. if i’m in love with a nihilist, so be it. never.

o is for oh, that’s pretty. more abstract. // you overthink everything. // you’ll be okay.

p is for please don’t be worried. i just want to talk and i’ll see you then.

q is for i don’t see a need to question it.

r is for maybe i shouldn’t reject reality like that. (maybe you shouldn’t.)

s is for sort of like a maze in your mind. //  i’d steal a car for you. // stop it. i only have one arm.

t is for there’s stuff i can’t handle. (there’s NOTHING I CAN’T HANDLE.)

u is for i’m uncomfortable.

v is for vomit everything you eat for a week straight.

w is for we won’t burn our friendship out, right?

x is for i should go break my other arm for symmetry. (i’ll do it.)

y is for you shouldn’t want to die.

z is for i don’t want you dead.



dear eireann,

you’re thinking of phlegm. black bile, yellow bile, blood, and phlegm.

i think you describing throwing up is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever read. i remember there was one day when i was 11 that i threw up ten times and each time so violently that there came a point where i was afraid i was literally throwing up my organs. it made sense. i felt so empty after. “there goes my liver,” i thought. “i bet my heart’s somewhere in there. i knew it was u-g-l-y.”

i want to respond to your cards but i’m not sure what the medium for that is. maybe dreams.

say it. i want you to say it. make it irreversible. the only beautiful things are the irreversible ones. i used to be obsessed with saying irreversible things every day. wanting every day to change everything for me. i feel like nobody else understands that. so just say it. i don’t think you can be free until you do say it. and you think it’ll change everything, and it will. probably for a blink. and then it’ll be the next thing and the next thing and i swear to god you just never run out you just never.

but see, i hate thinking like that. a year is always 365 or so days. it doesn’t matter what fraction of your life it is. it’s the same it’s exactly the same.

i hate it when people say shit about “priorities.” i think it’s because of how every morning that my dad drove me to school in the morning (every morning), he’d just say “kasia, think about where your priorities are” “kasia, your priorities are all out of whack and you’ll never learn.” and then he’d go on to talk about several priorities that i should have. and i’d think about how the prefix “prim” means “one” and how nothing fucking makes sense. so i don’t really think having priorities is a real thing. and i think having A priority might be a thing, but i don’t think it’s mine.

i’ll never listen.



Busted Out Of Gaffa

I kind of feel ridiculous for how dramatic I make everything. None of the goodbyes that I thought I was making all summer were really goodbyes. Not a single one of them. Okay, maybe that’s not true. What is true is that none of the people I thought I was being forced to say goodbye to are really gone. In the end, the only person I was really saying goodbye to that entire time was myself. Every single time. Yearbook signings, when I was trying to tell everyone what they meant to me and failing and settling for a joke that masked my real feelings, and thinking about how I wouldn’t remember any of the things I wrote to all these people, and everyone else writing me messages I read over and over for a few days and then never again. Saying goodbye to my friend at the beach. Saying goodbye to my friends. Saying goodbye. Placing such holy importance on the last words I exchanged with the last friend I saw before starting college as he dropped me off at my house. Do I even remember them? Holding each other close and crying or trying not to cry and then crying in the car or telling each other not to cry and screaming at each other through the window as we drove away so we didn’t waste a single breath that we could still not be done saying goodbye. Coming home and crying about how horrible it was saying goodbye. All the saying goodbye. It was all so overblown. We saw each other again. After weeks, after months. We barely changed, at least in the way we were to each other. Oh, we dyed our hair. We get it. We were only closer and more broken. What was the point of all the saying goodbye? I know the whole time I was only saying goodbye to myself. Saying goodbye to not having to be in control. Saying goodbye to the hopeful person you became right after you graduated, out of bounds for the first time, all this time for the first time, so off the map for the first time, so close for the first time. Summer was your season all of a sudden. Summer had never been your season. If anything, it was your fall, it was the uncharted block of time that let you turn into a stone and sink and you stayed at the bottom until the factory schedule took over again and you had to be a robot keeping it alive again, until fall became your fall, and winter became your winter, and everything was right again. But before that could happen, everything changed for a while. Winter was like summer. And spring was like summer. And summer, you can fucking imagine how fucking like summer it was. Everything was nonstop fucking summer. I should have known. I was holding out for it the whole time. Doesn’t a nonstop stumbling onslaught of misery grant you at least a few seasons of endless summer? How could I say goodbye to my fucking endless summer? My fucking endless summer that could only happen after all the bad conglomerated and overflowed into something so compact it could only make you laugh and cry and make this thousand times layered over record? How could you say goodbye if you knew how quickly that endless summer would make you forget everything that came before? How could you? How could you know that the summer would set and you would be alone on the road again, how could you know that everything has a season where it blooms for a time if this was your first blooming season? How is anything ever going to be the same? How could you not mourn it, even if you didn’t understand what it meant yet? Grieving doesn’t start after you’ve processed the fact. That makes no fucking sense. Nothing does, like why is it so easy to act like things that actually happened happened? That one’s fucking obvious. Sticking with realism, sticking with Gloku, don’t talk to me.


Satan Carried Hell Within Him

Picture this. A real local tragedy: girl could study practically anything at university, but spends every indecisive moment plotting to run away from school and take up either permanent or temporary residence on the beaches of California. Without telling anyone. That would ruin it. Maybe someday while she’s looking out at the sunset, the police will come up behind her and tell her she’s been a missing person for six months. Six months? Now that’s some pathetic police force. Where else would you search for young youths trying to grasp with their unfurled hands at a better life? It’s always been right here since the California fucking Gold Rush. Anyway, she gets off the radar, she thinks, but she doesn’t get off the radar. You don’t get off the radar in this world. At least not in any way that’s honorable. If you disappear in space, you must disappear in time, too, and there’s just no way to make that honorable. But she’ll try. What’s the real problem here? So maybe she had a pretty ill-fated childhood that loomed over her every move into her teenage years. Clutches that loosened up over time, but didn’t disappear in the bigger picture. But it wasn’t the worst you could have had, and just because it was liquid pain doesn’t mean it wasn’t liquid love, too. So what’s the problem? I think she finally understood, after she left. After enough time, hell isn’t somewhere you temporarily reside anymore. It can’t just be a vacation if it’s the place you were forged and the place you haven’t been able to separate yourself from for as long as you’ve been alive. You know that someday you will escape this prison, and you dream about it, and everything is the polar opposite of everything you’ve ever known, in your dreams. But then you escape your prison, and you realize that hell has become so inseparable from you, it isn’t just somewhere you have lived anymore. It’s something you carry with you.



dear emmie,

i miss you already. already? understatement. i missed you the moment i left you at 1:37 p.m. yesterday. before that too. you were here for a blink. i blinked and you were here and then i blinked again and you were gone. i didn’t realize what i missed every other blink i’ve staggered through until that one fucking blink. i can’t believe you’re gone again. were you ever here? i barely feel like it happened. and i take back what i said about goodbyes (i haven’t said it yet) (i’ve said it, but you haven’t seen it yet). they are as fucking dramatic as they feel in the moment. and this one was no easier than the last. even after i said how all the goodbyes we all said to each other were stupid and might as well never have happened. oh, no. you’ll never see this. but it’s okay. bye emmie. summer is our season. i like saying “we’ve had a run” to people, but fuck no, we haven’t had our run.


Am I Wasting My Youth Bagging Groceries? 12 Signs That Your Life Is Passing You By.

Dear Eireann,

My favorite kind of tea is jasmine. The house I live in is green. A grayish, blending in kind of green. I was born in the city by the bay. I hate it when people I barely know try to give me nicknames without asking me. “I’ll just call you Kat.” Oh, will you? I probably wouldn’t mind it that much if you asked me, but you didn’t. I met the love of my life almost a year ago. Did I? I don’t know. “Met” is a confusing term, especially with us. And has it really been a year? Jesus Christ. It feels so much shorter. Are the rest of my years gonna feel like this? I used to have bangs. I used to have short hair. You might remember one of those. My mailbox is green. Is it my mailbox? I love my mom but I hate my dad. Is hate too strong of a word? Probably. It used to be hate. I don’t know what it is now. I used to hate our town, but now I like our town. Isn’t that so fucking weird? Now it feels like this whole other world. I think I just like whatever place I’m in. I haven’t read your cards yet. I was too exhausted last night after 8 hours of I don’t even know. I wish I had enough poems to publish them in a book but I am pretty sure I don’t and if I do, I can only live with like a third of them. Or a fourth. There’s really no point to this whole charade at all, because I actually don’t care, but I’ll drag it out anyway. Have you ever listened to one of your favorite bands playing inside a club from outside the club? Right on the street? It’s a lot of fun. I should loiter more. I’m always walking. I like how I don’t have to walk anywhere here. It’s refreshing. I’ve been waiting for this one package for weeks and weeks and it hasn’t come. I want to go to Yellowstone. Maybe this summer. I always feel left out of everything but at this point, it just feels natural. I went to the doctor last week. I had this one burning question, but I didn’t like the lady pretending to be my doctor enough to ask her. Actually, by that point, it really wasn’t that burning anymore. Used to be. Callum’s picking me up really soon, I should go get changed? Into the snake nips shirt? Seems fitting. They don’t quite line up with my nipples. But pretty much. Pretty fucking much. Still want a shirt covered all in snakes, but I want them to be pretty and vicious and hissing and glowing and covered in scales and entwining and I didn’t feel like I or anyone could do that. I have 39 physical dollars. I got this darkish purple and blue denim jacket from the men’s department at Target that’s a little too big for me that I can’t fucking stop putting on my body but no one has commented on it. There’s a man in my driveway. He’s carrying a lot of packages. Leave them there, mister. I have a runny nose again. I have to close again today. You’re so graceful. I really like that. My mom doesn’t have a middle name. My middle name is Anna. Want to know another fun fact? I don’t think I even told you in the first place.