đź’”
When we first heard opioid stories, They were always in whispered tones Now banners of sorrow mark the front steps of childhood homes; Parents wept through daddy's girl eulogies And merit badge milestones with their daughters and sons: Laying there lifeless in their suits and gowns
Jan 31, 2025

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I go back to the old street I don’t need any directions I could find my way there in the dark I know all the intersections It’s not the same as I left it And shall never be once more There are overgrown bushes and New buildings galore They tore down my house with bulldozers I wonder if they knew A little girl grew up there And that little girl died, too
Jun 5, 2024
đź—’
“Now I have to remember you for longer than I knew you” “how do you process grief?” “by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day.” two headed calf poem “i was a child my spine wasn’t developed enough to be your pillar” “As a woman I have so much empathy for my mother, but as a daughter, I have so much anger..”
May 14, 2024
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and a solar storm raged the sky to soft pink in the garden I’d watered that morning. We’d just agreed it was to be our last summer here Together, and we said “I will remember this forever” and meant it. It was the week it felt my dreams began  and I bled through my underwear  on the way to the London show. Discovered Jo was to die soon, on the way to Sheffield. It was 23 degrees in May and my thighs wore shining  beads of sweat, while I read that they’re going to drop bombs on Rafah and cried to the red Robin  roosting in the ivy. That week I felt so proud And so ashamed. So happy And so sad.  That week i saw my idols live and die. Saw my nephew roll for the first time. Asked my lover to move in, trembling as I did.  I felt fear rip through my torso as I rubbed tiger balm into my aching neck and traced the silver sliver of the moon  with camphor scented fingers.  It was the week it all began Or ended, The week I saw Mitski live, The week my dad fell off his bike, The week Albini died, The week I saw the Northern Lights and cried and cried and cried, The week before I turned 29.  - I wrote this on Saturday. Last week was the most mental week.
May 13, 2024

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this is worthy of celebration: the lack of video—autoplay video, noisy inane video, panicky video, algorithmic, dumb video, rabbit hole video, any video—on pi.fyi is a good thing
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this is going to hurt — A LOT — but it's getting to the point where there's no other option
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one of my 2025 habit goals alone or with others, it is the best
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