28 September 2013
Poetry Quarterly's Spring issue is out!
My poem "A Stranger Speaking in Tongues" appears in the Spring 2013 issue of Poetry Quarterly! They have a free digital version up on their website right now, but there's a print version for sale on their website and on Amazon, too.
I made this nice official website!
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
It's hosted by Tumblr, so if you have a Tumblr account you can follow it and get all the updates of my writing and art on your dash!
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
www.youwriteryouliar.com
It's hosted by Tumblr, so if you have a Tumblr account you can follow it and get all the updates of my writing and art on your dash!
25 September 2013
Glitterwolf Magazine, Issue #4
So, my story "Her Secondhand Smoke" is in this issue of Glitterwolf Magazine!! Glitterwolf is an LGBTQ magazine based in the UK. I'm really excited about it. Print and digital copies are available on their website, if you're interested. There are a lot of really great writers published in this issue; I feel really honored. Check out Catherine Fitzpatrick's "Six Women I'm Not" and Rhiannon Thorne's "Adeline Killed the Baby," so beautiful.
11 September 2013
Fire: A Love Story
Tell me again how we were bound from birth like the wildest animals bred in captivity, born in cages. Tell me again how baptism by fire won't work on wolves like us. Tell me again how even star-crossed arsonists deserve to be loved.
Tell me about the time when you were fifteen, the first time you put something burning between your lips; tell me again how I was busy wailing, bloody, cold, eyes opened for the very first time.
Tell me about that night that you turned twenty and didn't care if you lived or died, how your lungs felt like they'd crumble easy as ash—how that same night my parents began to hide the lighters because I'd stick my fingers in the flames wanting so badly to catch fire.
I can't remember if it was when you were turning thirty or if it was the year that I turned sixteen that we made homes inside warm women's arms and curled up quiet. Wasn't it within a month that we burned those homes at the stake for aiding and abetting known criminals? How many fires did we start in all? How many innocents do you think were burned?
Tell me the one about how a woman loved you for who you could be, just like a girl loved me for who I once was. Tell me how she saw the light in you, just like she refused to see the dark in me. Tell me again how star-crossed arsonists deserve to be loved.
Remind me again about that time that I thought true love meant the end of self-inflicted suffering because I found a girl who'd use me as an ashtray. Tell me how I made that false discovery at the same moment that the doctors were sure they'd found cancer in you, and you kept on with your pack a day. Tell me how when I woke up alone on a red-stained pillow and licked crusted blood from my lip, they told you there was no tumor. Tell me how your girlfriend said she'd stay on the same day they insisted that the smoke was causing my nosebleeds. Tell me how my lips were numb from tobacco when you found her suitcases packed and ready to go.
Tell me about when we ran out of lighter fluid. Tell me about when we ran out of cigarettes. Tell me about when we were unhappy and there was no one left to blame. Please, remind me again how star-crossed arsonists deserve to be loved.
Tell me how they chained us before we ever met, tell me how watching me walk through your door felt like coming face-to-face with the convict you'd been cuffed to your entire sentence, each of us with hands crossed behind our backs and bound together. Tell me again how when my skin blisters you feel it. Tell me again how when you suffocate from the smoke I stop breathing. Tell me again how we each love an arsonist though we hated ourselves half our lives.
Don't say that I'm still a child with my hand held to a candle. Don't tell me you're just an addict with a box of matches. Leave out how this could consume us. I just need to hear you tell me one last time how even wild animals who've burned down whole forests deserve love like ours.
Tell me about the time when you were fifteen, the first time you put something burning between your lips; tell me again how I was busy wailing, bloody, cold, eyes opened for the very first time.
Tell me about that night that you turned twenty and didn't care if you lived or died, how your lungs felt like they'd crumble easy as ash—how that same night my parents began to hide the lighters because I'd stick my fingers in the flames wanting so badly to catch fire.
I can't remember if it was when you were turning thirty or if it was the year that I turned sixteen that we made homes inside warm women's arms and curled up quiet. Wasn't it within a month that we burned those homes at the stake for aiding and abetting known criminals? How many fires did we start in all? How many innocents do you think were burned?
Tell me the one about how a woman loved you for who you could be, just like a girl loved me for who I once was. Tell me how she saw the light in you, just like she refused to see the dark in me. Tell me again how star-crossed arsonists deserve to be loved.
Remind me again about that time that I thought true love meant the end of self-inflicted suffering because I found a girl who'd use me as an ashtray. Tell me how I made that false discovery at the same moment that the doctors were sure they'd found cancer in you, and you kept on with your pack a day. Tell me how when I woke up alone on a red-stained pillow and licked crusted blood from my lip, they told you there was no tumor. Tell me how your girlfriend said she'd stay on the same day they insisted that the smoke was causing my nosebleeds. Tell me how my lips were numb from tobacco when you found her suitcases packed and ready to go.
Tell me about when we ran out of lighter fluid. Tell me about when we ran out of cigarettes. Tell me about when we were unhappy and there was no one left to blame. Please, remind me again how star-crossed arsonists deserve to be loved.
Tell me how they chained us before we ever met, tell me how watching me walk through your door felt like coming face-to-face with the convict you'd been cuffed to your entire sentence, each of us with hands crossed behind our backs and bound together. Tell me again how when my skin blisters you feel it. Tell me again how when you suffocate from the smoke I stop breathing. Tell me again how we each love an arsonist though we hated ourselves half our lives.
Don't say that I'm still a child with my hand held to a candle. Don't tell me you're just an addict with a box of matches. Leave out how this could consume us. I just need to hear you tell me one last time how even wild animals who've burned down whole forests deserve love like ours.
08 September 2013
Winter Tangerine is out
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