Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I just started my summer class and with volunteering, it has been a lot. I plan on writing more flash fiction, maybe even a short story of sorts. There will still be poetry but I’m just trying to explore more with fiction.
I’ve tried my hardest. I’ve tried my best. I don’t like salad.
Okay, sometimes I like it. When tossed in creamy dressing. With toasted pine nuts. With lumps of dried ricotta (I’m boujee, remember?).
But basically, I don’t like it most of the time. I don’t care which place on campus has the best salad. None of them probably do. I’m not willing to wait in a line for 15 minutes for damp greens.
Do I have to like it? Sometimes I feel the answer is yes. I’ve tried to get into salad (I’ve dabbled, you could say). But there’s something about those damn plastic containers you can’t close without another person’s help that deters me even more from the food.
So I get a sandwich instead. And there’s lettuce on it sometimes (that’s okay, right?).
via See Jane Write: 365 Blog Post Ideas and Writing Prompts
a continent of a blister a thumb sucked until the fifth grade.
passed now shiny, rose
petal skin tight over the
a flap of dermis peeling a pointer finger used in newfound command.
back over the joint,
as if it were a banana,
ready to be eaten.
a blood red patch of new a middle finger used against deserving.
skin just greased up with
beeswax and coconut oil,
a desert of flaking skin, a ring finger encircled with my mother’s ring.
white and dry; could
even be collected to make
the perfect snow globe.
a cracked joint covered a pinky finger promised to those around me.
with flicks of sepia each
ripe for my