little effort
some poems and a short "refined journal" (coined by beautiful wine-bar-bartender)
happy april! (me saying happy april when it’s really almost over already! guys i’m tired and you know what? i bet you’re tired too! but i have some good news because with being tired comes something epic…a little something i like to call…sleep! and what if i told you that i am currently laying in bed and it is 6:48 PM on a monday and i’m like, you know what? i WILL go to bed before 9:00 PM tonight and i WILL probably wake up at 3:45 AM the way i have every day for the last few weeks and i WILL look at the bruise on my leg and assume it is a ghost and i WILL find meaning in all of this and whatever, i WILL swipe obsessively on some dumb dating app and it WILL give me a dopamine hit and i WILL go back to bed and wake up in the morning feeling absolutely refreshed and dare i say fabulous!)
anyway i’m doing stuff and working on stuff and trying to make stuff happen, but look, a girl can only take on so many projects and ideas and jobs and mind prisons. my new year resolution was to be “softer” with myself. to show myself “grace” and to “go slow” so here are a couple baby sh*tty poems and then a little refined journal from a long train ride at the beginning of the month and yeah you guessed it I DIDN’T CAPITALIZE wowwww so social media of me soooo tumblr girl poem vibes except not really i swear! i just it just look please stop expecting so much of me! i got a college degree in theatre not Proper-Capitalization-In-Substack-Posts.
after taking five hours to file my taxes
i will take
a 401k or
a perfectly oversized teeshirt
whichever comes first
it'll scratch the same itch
again i think i could live somewhere
like montana and probably finally
get over my fear of tap water
and tik tok tarot card readings (with no tags)
please don't tell me my fortune!
unless it's really good!
i've never had a cavity
but i'm also avoiding going to the dentist
ignorance is bliss!one time an irish boy told me about saluting magpies and ruined my life
write this down
i'm the sweatiest girl in
the world but i know
green socks and gerry rafferty
will heal me
what if i said sweatiest
but i meant sweetest
sweetie-est
(that's miss seuss to you!)
crows are supposed to be
bad luck but what if
they are happy and chirping
and grooming themselves on
a telephone line
or sharing a piece of dried mangobegging to be interviewed on the street for an instagram reel
the air was wet this morning
and i wanted to ask other people hey
do you feel the air? it's wet
but the child was feeding the pigeons bugles
the man was peeling an orange and dropping the rind
the dog was pulling on its leash
and i couldn't stop picking my face til it bled
and i couldn't stop replaying a rumor i heard
that it's just harder to have dreams after 26
and i couldn't stop imagining myself standing in line
at a subway or a chipotle and the
agony of it
and i couldn't stop looking at my own tagged instagram posts
and i couldn't stop thinking about the pope
and when this happens
especially when the air is wet
i think of my credit score
and the softness of my chin ok i'll bite how much do i have to pay to have someone hot like me on hinge
in the privacy of my own room
where i am allowed to do ugly things
i cough with my mouth wide open
and i think i look like a little girl
or i look like a dog
like a country dog in the city
an example of a country dog would be
a yellow lab
an example of a city would be
right now
i don't have really high standards
like for love
but i wouldn't date someone named jakob
(with a k)
and i wouldn't google "natural ozempic supplements"
(one of those things is a lie)tuesday april 8 2025
transcribed from small blue notebook and iphone notes app
written on the train(s) to astoria from bay ridge
pretty much unedited yolo
every monday (and today tuesday) i cross the brooklyn bridge, and i sit in a window seat facing backwards, and i stare at the twenties of thirties of hundreds of windows on the twenties of thirties of hundreds of buildings, and all i want is to see a body in front of me. the body could be doing anything. playing the trumpet, staring down, washing dishes, wrapping a gift, just anything that could prove life? to me? god, i want to cry, and i wonder why i feel sad, but the feeling is actually and technically and down-to-brass-tacks probably “sonder” and i think “sonder” is so close to “somber” and i think maybe that was on purpose (but a man coined the word so probably not.)
i deleted instagram. i am going through a withdrawal where not even human life (see: sonder) can give me the dopamine i’ve been trained to filter the world through. i’m like can someone please screenshot a meme and send it to me? can someone please make a joke about how one beer is really just forty beers? please god, i’m not sure how i’ll make it! (the rest of the day without instagram)
i just read the end of a chapter where an older (married) man hits his younger girlfriend, hard, twice, and i feel turned on, and i feel bad for that, and i think about the boy who i keep having sex with over and over again, who has hit me a couple times, not that hard.
i can’t be held responsible for healing all men of their fear to be cared for by someone other than their mother or their wife.
and i can’t find a single fucking body in the windows and now i’m underground again.
i want to be a baby. not a fetus or a newborn, but just a baby being pushed around in a stroller and carried up the stairs of the subway. fed soft food with a spoon and pet gently. like on the top of the head. some sort of quiet acknowledgment of my ultimate charm, of the privilege they feel for being so close to my head and having the opportunity to pet it, as they pile on banana baby food onto a plastic spoon, and tell me the airplane is coming, or the train, or whatever, and then i’m like ok, if it’s coming do you mind if i stand in front of it real quick?
i am not a baby. it turns out i am a 27 year old girl who cannot get in for free at the whitney (only under 25) and i have flat feet but i am trying to wear more low profile shoes to have a more ballerina-like-silhouette, but let’s be honest i am no ballerina, i am a soccer player, but without the athleticism but without the quads but without the endurance so i guess really i am just a girl who has wide hips and a pretty back and who wants to be hit not so hard but kind of hard.
i am going to get dinner at a friend’s house (like an adult) in astoria (like an adult) but the w train smells like garbage and i’m listening to the same album i’ve been listening to since 2020, which if you think about it was five years ago. five years fifteen years twenty five, i hope i get more beautiful the older i become, but in order for that to happen i will probably have to start washing my face every night and styling my hair.
i love to look at the left hands of the people on the train. i am often surprised by who isn’t married, but i am never surprised by who is.
there is a boy sitting across from me (not married btw) with shaggy hair and a cap that says something about “bullshit” - he is reading a book with the word “gun” in the title. he is wearing glasses. gray cargo pants. he is sitting sideways on the bench, curled up like he is on a love seat. i wonder if he would hit me and like it?
he got off the train. i go to dinner.
(^ literally every single person in bushwick i am sorry but it is true)
LOL INCLUDING THIS PIC BECAUSE I LIKE IT
THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER
GOOD NIGHT MOON!