the writing of m.e.
When I was sixteen, I’d cry every Sunday before going back to school on Monday. But I had amazing friends at school, had all A’s, and loved my classes. When I was seventeen, I threw up before and after every cheerleading performance and first date. But we won state, I was cheerleading co-captain, and the… Continue reading my lifelong teammate
The kitchen is clean. Chips and grapes and candies are poured into serving bowls. Candles are lit. Their light dances around the room, glowing and making everything warm. Little notes are cut and colored, precisely folded and decorated with illustrations, and my friends’ names. The clock strikes six; the girls filter in, one by one.… Continue reading to know and to be known, to see and to be seen
Who am I when I am alone?I used to be a writer, someone who typed, and penned,And spoke. Full of imagination and thought.Words poured from my mind, pooled at the tips of my fingers, holy water, like blessing’s oil, soothing my own disquieted soulFrom the chaos of the not-notated, the experience not sealed Into eternal remembrance.… Continue reading who am i when i am alone?
I don't have any poetic way to phrase it, but it's something I don't want to lose. A quiet morning, our sleepy heads on the same pillow, the birds chirping outside our cracked windows. I have to go into the office today, and I don't want to. I want to be slow, and lay in… Continue reading keeping track of happy memories
It’s July in Charleston, and I’m sixteen years old sitting on a bench outside of Jason’s Deli, some pop fiction book in hand, dripping with sweat while waiting for my friends who can drive to come pick me up. They pick on me because I could’ve gotten my restricted license almost a year ago if… Continue reading on letting loose
I sit on my apartment porch and watch the turning-yellow leaves move in the wind. The longer I look at them, the less real they appear, turning into something flat and two-dimensional instead. A painting, just colors layered and pressed flat on top of one another, animated through computer software to shake and shiver in… Continue reading brain clog
It’s my birthday. It’s been my birthday all day long, but I’ve been waiting to celebrate it, waiting for you to arrive. It’s my day, but it has all been about you for me. I park at the airport; I pace at the airport. And then I sit and wait, because your flight was delayed… Continue reading my 22nd birthday
“Hey Dad, can you come help me get this box down from my closet?” Dad comes into my room, and he brings down the cardboard box of old memories with ease, the same box I’ve been standing on a chair unable to lift for minutes now. “Thanks,” I sigh. “That’s my job as Dad. To… Continue reading lifting heavy things
I’m at my adult job, doing adult things: stuffing envelopes. One after the other, one fluid motion. Unchanging, uninteresting. My mind seeks for something to grasp onto: the melody coming through my headphones, the chill of the AC blowing my hair from the vent above me, your name. My hands are already onto the next… Continue reading camp crush
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
"Then the Lord called, 'Samuel! Samuel!' and he said, 'Here I am!' and ran to Eli, and said, 'Here I am, for you called me.' But he said, 'I did not call; lie down again.' So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, 'Samuel!' Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, 'Here I am, for you called me.'… Continue reading all this silence
m a r y e l i z a b e t h 