I imagine publishing
these little poems
that I write
in my kitchen,
and my car and the work
bathroom.
Or anywhere it hits.
What would people
think of the author?
Would some girl
in 20 years,
find my book in the
back of her high school library
and relate so deeply
that she also begins writing.
Or is all of this just drool
from a depressed person,
no more than an open journal.

I suddenly felt like
I needed to scream
or explode or
both.
I was hunched over
trying to coax a teeny tiny
***** into place,
listening to the two women
I work with be
scandalized by some girl
doing Onlyfans.
What a *****!? What does her man think?

Ugh YUCK SHUT UP
I wanted to burst.
Instead I hurried up
to finish this menial job.
I am surrounded by
boring people who
talk about boring ****
all day.
It is killing my soul.

When women with kids
ask me about not wanting
to have some of my own,
I respond with an answer
that’s something like,
I enjoy my freedom.
But what I really mean
is on Thursday after a tough
shift I was able to
have enough drinks
to make me feel like
life is worth living again;
while listening to
90s pop on full blast
in the house in which
I live alone.
And there is no one
to tell me I shouldn’t.

I wanna go driving
through the country side
as the sun goes down,
blasting 90s country hits
on Spotify
singing along to every song.
Then wind up at my favorite
bar and order a miller lite draft
and two shots of fireball.
Have a good conversation
with a bar fly and then
see where the liquor takes me.

The other day I was asked
why I don’t want kids
and I replied,
Freedom.
The scenario I want to happen,
absolutely could if I really wanted
because, I have freedom.
I turn 30 in about two weeks
and I have grown to like
my lifestyle
and I don’t want anything
to interrupt that.

I would rather get drunk
in my kitchen on a Thursday
then chase after a baby
and do bath time.

Sometimes I hear
the call of the wild
floating across
a warm day.
Or a foggy Friday
evening that would
be just perfect for
getting into trouble.
Pay day meant party time.
But even if I wanted
to go snooping around
there is nowhere left to go.
No one left to call to the bars.
No snow in August.

No matter what
That boy
from Minnesota says
about me,
I showed him the song
Waves ft Kacey Musgraves.

Even when he’s
asleep he will
put his arm around
me and hold
on tight
and mumble
how pretty I am
or something
a little more private.
He is very good
with words
in moments
that I am not.