when my mother carried me in her belly, we shared a mouth. her hunger was my hunger and we craved wet, dense poundcake together. the day i came out, i took her teeth with me. my mother's doctor informed her that she had 32 cavities shortly after, more cavities than she had teeth. my mother rose me to grow into my mouth, and after nineteen years, it ( Read more... )

can you suggest a book for me to read?

( 1. 'beloved' by toni morrison... )

there are subtleties in a button. you see, two pieces lay silent together, one with his lips around the other's roundness. but they are not together made. they are pinned in place. and sometimes, touching is not enough. more than anything, a button is a hunger in a place where hunger has not even been discovered, where looks do not crave but devour ( Read more... )

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i just think that in high school, i seriously underestimated my own capacity to love the people i was with. perhaps i was disarmed by the thought of losing them one day and the thought of holding on too tight or loving too honestly wasn't an option. or maybe i was just too damn "cool" to love out loud, and we all were. i'm not sure why it was ( Read more... )

skylermarie and i just rediscovered a huge part of my childhood, and i imagine hers as well, mr. men. i used to have a pile of the little 5"x5" books, detailing the simple yet educational adventures of the little characters. my favorite mr. men was "mr. small," probably because he was so humble and exaggerated the already cute stature of the book series. oh ( Read more... )

the first glass out of the tropicana carton is my favorite - skimmed off the top like cream, smooth and very sweet. its meniscus is so pale and light that it's barely there, escaping. it's not that i don't like pulp, it's just that the more you pull from the carton, the denser it gets, the stickier it feels. my love for the top pour gets me into ( Read more... )

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victim. i never want to be a victim, although i know a part of me has some lustful obsession with it. through her essay 'welcome to cancerland', barbara ehrenreich identified the stigma that antagonized me during my spring semester. it is something that even ehrenreich could not write out, calling it the "v-word" - any word that can render a writer ( Read more... )

i don't understand how people can make it out of a room so easily. how people can swivel on a single foot and close a door like it isn't the physical manifestation of loss. i never really tried it until i was eighteen, and even then i was still too young to fully understand its repercussions. part of me knew, and will always know, that leaving a ( Read more... )