Fate wears a fur coat. At 4:30 p.m., it rings the door with yowls and screams. I step forward steadily, accepting my dreaded task. Swarmed by a sea of furry beasts, I claw my way up the stairs. The waves roar furiously as I open the cupboard of kibble and cans. Placing the plates on the counter, I face a sea monster. Clad in orange scales, his yellow eyes stare into the back of my skull, daring me to prepare the food which he will surely snarf up. Yet, I refuse to be deterred

sometimes i think growing up is just learning how to miss things. when i was little, i wanted to be older so badly.  i thought being a teenager meant freedom,  that i’d understand myself,  that everything would finally make sense. but now i’m here,  and everything feels both too fast and too slow.  i blink and months disappear, but inside, i still feel twelve—  confused, hopeful, soft in places,  places i thought i’d outgrown. i miss the versions of me  who didn’t think about

To the American Monks  There are but two necessities in life A good hat to hide from god And good shoes to outrun the devil.  So when the sun goes down,  And cigarette smoke hazes– The old straining stream, Once a mighty river, Which flowed from the wrath Of forgone tears, That we may, like all men before us and all men after,  Cry in the land where they let children cry As the final somber evening star droops and dims  Before the last coming of the complete Earth  That puts

At night, the floor inhales.  The boards swell like ribs,  and beneath, my grandfather twists  a blackened silhouette, spine cracking,  smoke curling from the hollows of his eyes. We never buried him properly.  Decay claimed him before anyone dared shut his eyes,  so he lay there, staring  through God’s tangled fingers,  screaming until heaven’s iron fist  shuffled him into  a deck of divine rummy. I wish he had screamed—  to warn us the fire was too fierce,  that this body s

It’s funny, isn’t it? Life, in general The fact that there’s no theme Or chapters, or any Sort of organization  Letters all strewn out Some not even on pages I find it quite charming That I choose my way That there’s no rule book Or rules of any kind Sometimes it’s stressful How disorderly it is But that’s what gives it The character that we adore so much And I would rather it be this way Then have to be an actor  In a story I didn’t write In a story I’m forced to like Becaus