Classic NYC Story

I took the last one down off the mannequin… and it was my size! I haven’t tried it on yet… but if it fits… I’m so absolutely wearing it to my next show. Just. So. Absolutely. Wearing it.

I didn’t get horribly wet, but my feet were cold. I dried them off in the bathroom with a paper towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. My tank top was rain-splattered in front, as though with paint, or as though it were designed that way. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. I looked at my face in the mirror and laughed.

I’d like to add his initial to my monogram…

It’s also considered impolite to knock into someone with your yoga mat without at least pretending not to have done it on purpose.

“Oops, sorry.”

…and i also would melt
in your arms,
which are big as the wide earth
and only big enough for me…

I ate my sandwich in front of the museum’s fountain. There were small children standing near the fountain. They’re not allowed to go in. It’s one of those fountains with many spouts that shoot off in sequence to make patterns. The children all screamed with delight when the fountain shot water high into the air, and then crouched in anticipation when the fountain waters were low. I poured a shot of alcohol into a Stewart’s root beer.

Ever go to a modern art museum tipsy?

Writing Prompts:
2.) A post your mom would write if your mom wrote posts.

How do I trust you… How do I love you… When you lie to me repeatedly…?

The friend zone is a sacred place. The water in the friend zone is so deep you could drown in it and so sweet that you won’t notice that you’re drowning. The friend zone is a place of comfort and softness and near infinite forgiveness. The friend zone is protected with walls made of yard-thick steel and guarded with twelve foot tall monsters carrying sharp knives. I defend my friends to the death. I’m loyal to my friends well past the point when it stops making sense.

This poem
is not about you.
I don’t know you…