PSA for those of you still somehow miraculously, incredibly, delusively subscribed to my writing

first of all, thank you. the mere idea of anybody wanting to read the brainrot that I try to turn into poetry is flattering to say the least, and dangerous for my ego… Continue reading →

asking someone you love about the weather

I never thought about love when I thought about home. never felt the pulse of it. the sun kisses my side of the planet but never touches my skin. I try to twist… Continue reading →

Childhood by Frances Conford

an analysis