“Why did you call me?”

“Because I felt like talking to you. Hey can you do me a favor?”

Oh that’s why you called.



“It’s just a gut feeling.”

“How long have you been having this gut feeling?”

“Since we met.”

The shower is the only place I can cry without anyone hearing.

A million of my tears just washed down the drain.

“Gut feeling”.

Don’t change a thing

You used to tell me you loved everything about me.

Don’t change a thing.

Don’t change a thing about the way you dress.

Don’t change a thing about the way you are.

Now he pokes and prods me.

Telling me to change everything about myself.

You should be skinnier. You’re too this. Too that. Poke. Prod. This is still too much fat.

What will even be left of me?


I wish we were taking out this mortgage for a place of our own. I wish we still spoke. I wish we still spoke of our plans to move in together. I wish you still loved me. I wish I could still feel your love. I can’t feel it anymore and I’ve never been so cold. 


Your words are sticky, dripping with gooey sugar crystals. They coat my throat, block my airways and choke my wind pipes. 

I never get to eat sugar, it’s bad for my teeth you say. But sometimes you force it to me and it’s artificially saccharine. Like Splenda. I know it’s not good for me but I still like the taste. Only it’s slightly bitter.