Starbucks on 14th Street (a ramble of my brain)

Am I a sociopath?

Would a sociopath wonder if they were a sociopath?

Do I process the world the way I ought to?

Is there something wrong with me?

What is that beeping sound?


I hate bad jazz.


Blinking cursor.

Blinking cursor.

Fucking cursor.



Why didn’t I bring any headphones?


That man is burping.


That lady is chewing her fingernails.


Melanie said she thinks that the inside of my brain

Must be full of rainbow slides and crazy colours.

“I am amazed at how your brain works,” she says and I laugh.

“Actually there are a lot of thunderclouds and lightning, too.”



Time with family.

Will they still be my family this time next year?


The man I love tied me to them but,

if he cuts me loose from him,

if he chooses to give up on us,

I will lose more than just him.

My beloved.


God. I love my husband so fucking much.


Am I a genius?

Why must I care?

Why do I compare myself against others so much?




Writing to write.


Popping in my ear.


My hands are shaking a bit.


Tightening my butt muscles while sitting down.




Pause for Snapchat.


All the art I want to make.

All the time I want to create.

All the words I want to write.

All the love I want to make at night.

All the hurt I want to heal.

All the trust I want to build.

All the walls I want to scale.

All the seas I want to sail.


Catch up. 

Catch up If you can.


Don’t worry about the grammar

Whether the words are right

Just write and it will be right

Just write and what is left

Will be your empty brain

And the sound of a heart at rest


No pen in hand.

"The quaking and popping," he says,

Off to my right,

At a table in the night.

St. Arbucks a safe haven

The McDonald’s of caffeinated

Over priced espresso.


Sit here.

Sit there.

Staring staring staring in to devices.

She remarks about something.

He rests his head in his hand.

And GODDAMN what is that sound?

Is this really the time to ground

The beans

For the caffeine?


I can feel my knees through the holes in my jeans.

I just spent one hundred eighty-three dollars

And change

On bras to hold my tits up.

Jayna always hated the word, “tit”.

Tit for tat.

Tat for tit.

Bit the bat

But the bat won’t bit.




My photographer can’t see me.


My brain won’t stop.

How to slow it down?

How to slow down the clown?

What is sown in the rest

Of my life in a space

Full of tragedy and comedy

And every kind of waste

Full of nonsense

And every kind of chance.

I am not my evil words.

My temper.

My face.

When it falls into disdain,

The face that masked pain.

Your pain.

So real.

I expected too much of you.

You wanted too much from me.

But I love you all the more.

I love him all the more.

He is my person.

You are my person.

He and you are the same person.

I’m getting my pronouns confused.

Because there is only one you.










Sips hot tea.


I have flashes of moments where I know – I just know – that I’m great.

That I’m amazing and lovely and worth it and worth the wait

But then I fall back into

Feeling ashamed of feeling worthy as if

How dare I think I am worth any of this?


Where does that come from?

Where can I make it go?

So far from me

So that I can finally grow?



I will become the better me.

I will learn how to be

Radically accepting

Wisely in mind

Not ruled by emotions

Or just my logical side.


I wish he could see me

Loving him here.

I must learn how to see myself.

Let that be enough.

Learn to love myself.


I must love myself.


No matter what.