About a Spoon
Kaitlin Roberts
You can measure out your life with coffee spoons and you can measure it by the way someone starts an email.
The distractingly beautiful former beauty editor asks me whether I've read Yoga by Emmanuel Carrere, which I have. "Why are you only asking her? Is this a gender thing?" Our teacher feigns offense.
You can measure out your life with coffee spoons and you can measure it by the way someone starts an email.
Book: Alice, or The Wild Girl
This has been a bad date that ended with a bad blowjob.
Cincinnati radicalized me.
In the meantime I will leave the box of mac and cheese I bought to keep in my pantry, just in case I need to feed you, collect dust.
I was searching for inner peace. V stopped replying to my calls and texts.
It intensified until one of them crashed into me and spilled my beer.
You were never going to let me, a Hindu atheist, walk down an aisle, in front of your parents to “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” (ok, my fantasy).
Obviously this is not everyone’s experience during a marathon
DIY Girl turns shit into sugar, men into murderers. DIY Girl is a melted qt-colored crayon
“Give me his number,” my aunt said, pulling on her weightlifting gloves.
Art is, to me, a balance between what you say and what you don’t. What you let a stranger’s imagination fill in.
While decorating for Christmas, my nieces stopped mid–garland untangling to perform their new choreography to the ten-minute “All Too Well.” No one asked for it. They were just doing it. Full-body
There are two breeds of love in the world / but I forget what they are.
standing around in my underwear
in the kitchen Christmas Eve
1:25like, I think they tolerate my family, or like they like us, because we're always at the deli
Last week I arrived in Montreal with no particular address in mind.
It was August 26th and my lease started September 1st. A more intelligent being would point out that there may be a problem with
I’m steadily acquiring encyclopedic knowledge of the impacts of different medications and antidepressants on men’s dicks.
journal entry #3
the birds ministered from tall pines
our eyes were
sites of excavation effaced by inner winters
went blind
amid the gorge the
I. xaxaxaxa
I don’t consider myself esoteric or mystical, but while tidying my desk I found a little square
sticker with just the number 8 on it; I think it fell off the new t-shirt I was