I was never a quiet person until I reached high school. When I was a child, my voice split through rooms. I sang so loud my throat burned. Questions spilled out my mouth and filled every hallway. 

Something changed freshmen year.

I sewed my mouth together for a little while. My voice crawled down my throat and slept in my chest. But just because you shut up doesn't mean you don't have things to say. I overflowed with words. Yet I stayed silent.

​It's got to have something to do with fear, right? Starting high school, a new environment, being a bit friendless. I redesigned my mouth. I made it hollow, dark, full of secrets. 

​Nah. Not anymore.

​I started my poetry project out of nostalgia. Since I was eight years old, I have kept journals to an obsessive extent. I have a giant plastic tub that I keep in the center of my room, that's filled to the brim with journals. This past summer, it occurred to me that all the poetry I'd ever written was in those journals, and I couldn't read them all together in the same place.
​So I decided to go through the journals and type all my poetry into the same word document. Maybe I'd print a little book, just for myself. For memory's sake. 

​The project grew legs fast. As I typed, day after day, an idea was tugging at me. 
​What if I shared this? What if I took it further? What if I made something and shared it with the world?

​I kept my project a secret from everyone, including my family, almost up to the date of publication. Poetry is insanely intimate. It's a method of survival, and there's nothing more personal than our survival strategies. But the more I worked on The Last Four Years, ​the more I realized why I needed to share it.

​We're all in this life together. Our lives are all amazing and they all suck in their own way. I was scared of showing the world my struggles. I write about a wide variety of topics, but some themes that pop up would startle those close to me -- themes like mental illness and abusive relationships. I'm a pretty private person. There are some people very close to me that don't know I've been through this stuff. And it's so weird, because now all of a sudden anyone can find out. And it's my choice. ​​I have chosen to strip my soul naked. 
​
​It's important for me to share these words, these secrets, these stories. It's important for me, because it makes me braver. But it's important for others too. I want you to know that you are not alone. That it will get better. And that words have the potential to help you along the way.

yours in haste,

So there's this little tab on this website. It says "poetry on demand."

Here's the deal with that.

​The way I view poetry is that it's an exercise in empathy, creativity, and connection. I really love the idea of it being this interactive process, an exchange, a way of sharing something sacred.

 So I'm opening it up to you guys.

​If you want to share your story with me, I'll write you a poem. You can get it digitally, typewritten, or typewritten with a polaroid photo that I think captures the essence of your story. I can also mail the poem to someone if you want to give it as a gift! You can mail it with your name or anonymously. Either way, I've got you.
​
​ All the prices are listed on the poetry on demand page. All you've got to do is reach out.

​

yours in haste,

I've started sleeping with the window open.

​I'm not sure why, exactly. It was never something that I did before. I was just feeling strange one night, kind of un-here and drifting, and my room felt like a hospital room. A really, really messy hospital room. All clinical and dark and buzzing. So I snapped the screens off my window and opened it a crack.

The neighbors just recently cut down a bunch of trees I grew up with. Those trees used to tower at the edge of my backyard like friendly giants. It broke my heart when they were killed. But thanks to the massacre, now I can see the lights from downtown when I look out the window. So the other night, I opened my window and I lay in bed and I watched the light drip through the dark glass. 

It's been raining a lot lately. My room smells like a wet towel.

Just a couple years ago, I was terrified of thunder. I mean, I'm still kind of a little terrified of thunder, but not like I was a couple years ago. Back then I was like a freaking cat. I'd hear the thunder and leap a mile in the air, take refuge under the bed or in the bathtub or somewhere equally ridiculous. Now look at me, sleeping with the window open. This year, I am full of weird and beautiful beginnings.

I started this website so I could better promote my poetry book, ​​the last four years, ​which is coming out on May 21st. But this is also a place where I plan to discover myself, and share that self with you.

yours in haste,