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breadcrumbs in North Carolina. This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

The paint on the porch is chipping and the grass is overgrown and sometimes I wonder why the he** I ever came home, but I’m here.



I know your smile, the crevices,
fractures
in your skin. I could pinpoint the exact shade of white within your teeth if I had some motivation, but I refuse. Tell me


a monster cannot be so beautiful. I need something with purpose to blow this realization away. I need

a man with fire; instead of this boy with matches I need

someone to tell me to throw down my pen and melt
into the doorknob because you can’t understand s*** words.




Hold me at 2 a.m. when I wake from dreams of God
shaking.






I don’t want to be eaten alive.







I knock and I wait for
forgiveness. hopefulness. that internal

nothingness. that I know too well.
im a sloppy mess of glue, needles and thread and I guess


I sicken myself. I want to cough up these capillaries, rip open every stitch of imperfection and show you
This girl cannot be fixed but






she’s here
beating her small fists to death on the same front door that you
carried her through on long nights
when she fell asleep in the car


years ago


when you’d stay up for hours playing solitaire in the kitchen
because you could never defeat yourself.







Sick child,
I’m tired of knocking on an empty door
in an empty house
with an empty fist
and an empty face





Teach me where to find my northern star,
show me my way home.





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