Time ticks down. 

I am her and she is me. We are different genetically but our hearts, they’re sewn from the same cloth. She comes to me when life has us both reveed up. We are screaming inside with the answers to our deepest fears. The ones we only dare whisper to each other. We talk the talks of childhood and beliefs. We dance around our questions, our insecurities, our life. We talk about the internal clock that powers both of our hearts. Always ticking down, down, down.Running out. 

We talk about the things we don’t dare to ask. We look at each other with knowing eyes. I am her and she is I. We know because we were there, together, holding hands and gluing the soles of our shoes back together. Our mother may have called us beautiful from time to time, but she called us strong more times than that. Our mother raised warriors, survivors, and beasts. 

We never spoke about the monsters of our childhood because monsters weren’t real, even if you did see them crawling across the floor, faceless, in the dark. And we were there, together, holding hands and tucking our feet deep under the covers while shutting our eyes tight. As we grew and the monsters became real and they would yell, close to our faces, with alcohol drenched breath, about how stupid we were, how much of a disappointment we had become. We were there, holding hands, caring for our mothers and whispering in the night about how we’d wish he’d just die. 

I am her and she is I. Older now. Raising warriors, survivers, and beasts. Moving on and forgiving the monsters of our dreams. There is an invisible string that sometimes calls one of us across town. We look into each other and understand the things that are unspoken and we are together, restarting the clocks in our hearts, standing up and choosing to believe our stories won’t end the way they do in our dreams. 

I am her and she is me. 



We are nineteen and at a punk show where the music is loud and I can’t understand half of what the lead singer is screaming. He is new. Tall and handsome and I think he looks like fun. We are designated drivers for the night so we stand next to the table by the door while we watch our friends get drunk. People keep coming through the door and jostling me. Everyone is bumping into everyone else. The door swings open one more time and he puts his arm out to stop it from hitting me. Thanks! I yell He smiles.

I lean in close to him and ask Do you have windows in your bathroom?

What?! He’s looking at me like I’m crazy.

Come outside with me. This band blows! I grab his hand and he follows me. We talk outside and I learn his name. He tells me the school he went to and I silently judge him. We dance. I dance on my car. Then we sit on the hood and talk some more. Our friends slowly start stumbling out of the gun club, where the shows being held, and it’s time to get them home. I hold his hand on the way to his house. He’s hesitant but doesn’t let go. We pull up to his house. I’m going to kidnap you soon. I say. He says sure but I know he doesn’t believe me.

Two days later I do. I pick him up and drive him around to show him all of my secret places in our town. All of the reasons I love it. Later on in the night while we’re sitting on my friends porch, smoking, I look at him and smile.

What is it? He asks

You’re gonna love me someday. I tell him.

Again he doesn’t believe me. Little does he know that it’s true.


Jason turned 30 yesterday. It was also our seventh wedding anniversary. We chose the date mostly because of the military not allowing leave in November and because I, jokingly, reminded him he’d never forget our anniversary if it was on his birthday.

Jason and I have been together for 1/3 of our lives. This realization hit me tonight. Not like I shouldn’t have known. But it is strange how time can move so fast when you’re not watching it closely. We have literally became adults together and for some reason, tonight, that is blowing my mind.

I can’t believe how something I just thought would be fun turned into this great big thing… my life. I’m glad it did. I just want to state that I was right… He did end up loving me,even if he didn’t think he would.





Bad kids, all my friends are bad kids.

Sometimes there’s this yearning in my heart for that true intimacy that I used to have with my very close knit group of friends in high school. We are all still in contact, for the most part, but we’ve all grown up and life has happened… And after a while it becomes no longer appropriate for you to spill your whole life to people outside of your immediate family.

In order to understand the closeness of this group of people that my heart yearns for I feel like I need to give some back story. Imagine if you will a group of teenagers, let’s say 12 of them, who never want to go home. All for different reasons of course. Whether it be a mother who is dying, a father who is abusive, parents who are emotionally distant and could care less, or for the simple fact that they’re hungry and there is no food at their house so what’s the point any way? Those were my friends. We were not popular, we were strange, we wore weird thrift store clothes… not because it was cool, but because that’s the only thing our parents could afford. We drove hand me down cars and beaters (if we had a car at all), and we were with each other every single day from the time school let out until we could not possibly stay away from home any longer without getting into trouble. We spent our time in a garage of one of our friends… and maybe we stayed there because his parents didn’t care or maybe we stayed there because they constantly fed us frozen pizza. We would sit, listen to music, smoke, and talk for hours. We were there for each other when someone lost their mother, we were there for each other when another one of us lost a father, there when someone ended up pregnant, someone’s house burnt down, and when someone ended up in jail. Because we were a family then. Chosen, yes, but family. Any time serious shit went down we were all there. Someone did bad drugs, they were being watched as they vomited up their insides by us. Someone drank too much… It was us. And we were all we had.

Sometimes when I get down now I yearn for that closeness. That togetherness. That us against the world mentality. I yearn for pennies thrown at my window for me to let them in at midnight. I yearn for hours of talking. I yearn for the screaming and dancing and destroying. I yearn for Saturday night Punk Shows and sneaking out of sleepovers. I yearn for us to be young again…

Today, I miss my friends.