I don’t want to live my life
writing essays
sitting next to people who sniff
              on the train

I don’t want to live my life
not being able to meet a deadline
without losing hours of sleep
              the night before

And I can’t help but think
maybe if you had looked after me properly
I’d be able to handle living my life
without thinking “what’s the point?”


The rain hits us like small reminders;
cold, heavy, uncomfortable.
We sit under the crying sky,
our legs and faces glistening,
our backs shivering,
but our mouths are laughing,
pleading and talking
into the night,
not afraid –
standing still and still
(we’ll always be)


home is not in my house.
home is in the small drives at night.
it’s in the end of your cigarette
while the cheap wine sits in my glass.
it’s the sound of the laugh
that woke the entire street,
and it’s in the way we drove with the windows down,
my arms reaching for the moon.
home is the way we fall back together
after drifting so far away.

no one had ever

We sat on the beach at 4 a.m.
and it felt like home
after being so far away.
Without a word,
you welcomed me
like I had never been lost at all.
But I was
because no one ever loved me
like you do.
No one had ever
danced with me all night
in front of strangers
and drank straight from the bottle
and laughed until
we cried
like you did.
I was so lost in a crowd
of people who never
loved me at all
and I finally
found my way home.