They put my name on the box
but I don’t remember signing anything.

All I know is
the cookies smell familiar.
Like a Tuesday that never ended,
like the living room before the arguments
started showing up in the drapes.

They say they use real butter.
Small batches.
Heritage grains.
But I know
you can’t bake silence that warm
without a little blood in the dough.

The woman on the package is smiling
because she’s not allowed to scream.
Every wrinkle airbrushed to resemble trust.
Every crumb designed to disintegrate
just before you remember why you started chewing.

I keep eating.
Because what else is there?
Dinner was a voice memo.
Breakfast was a bookmark.
And no one texts first in this house.

There’s a flavor I can’t place—
something like
apology,
or static,
or being loved
by accident.

"Cookies.”
Now available wherever truth is sold
in resealable pouches.

Alone she waits where waves won't sleep,
The sea her grave, the sky her keep.
For love, for hope, for what can't be,
Just bones adrift in memory.

No voice to cry, no soul to see,
Yet still she waits eternally.
Time turned her into bone and air,
But still she lingers, as if one cared.

She sits in silence as they stare
Pity fills the space between her and them as she listens
And hears
Their minds wonder what she's capable of
They see disability while she is trapped inside a disconnected body
That won't bend to her will
But she's smart
She hears all
She knows the innermost secrets that cross their minds
As they sit obliviously judging her
Though they know nothing of the magic within her
She won't show them
She dare not let them in
For the fear of what they might think
If they knew just how much she knows of who they truly are
So she hides in her prison of a body
Waiting for the day someone looks into her eyes and sees her beyond what she can say or do
And it's safe to be herself and live in her truth
Hoping one day they can hear her too

i am what i am
will you take me as i am
i am a situational overthinker,
every moment lived with you should be remembered.
i have naive and soft heart,
but every time it feels broken and heavy.
i feel guilty and embarrassed,
to things i can't change.
don't know,
if someone will love me,
as deeply as i do.

hello,
i hope your evening
is filled with
stubbed toes
burnt supper
spilled milk.

in the morning, i hope
you forget your office keys
your coffee until it's gone cold
your lunch
your password.

i hope this email
finds you well!

quietly, another year
added to the tally,
somehow too many
or too few,
depending on the
company.

a passive reminder
of every absence,
for better or worse,
all the things i never
became, all the things
i've never done,
the lone day a year
i hear from my father,
a three word message
no more
no less.

another year,
any other day. just once,
it'd be okay to hear
"neutral day of birth.
hope it's
fine."