My Poetry

Do Not Touch.

She can wear what she wants. She can walk down the street naked, and you still would not have the right to violate her. If someone leaves the door to their house open, does that give you the right to walk in? To caress their couches, examine their personal pictures on the wall, sleep in… Continue reading Do Not Touch.

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Short Stories

In a Storage Closet in Paris.

He couldn’t see her in the tiny storage closet, but he could smell her. She smelled like home. Not his home, which reeked of greasy pizza boxes and inside-out underwear, but home. She smelled of sweet pea body wash and the mint chocolate-chip gum she always kept a pack of in her purse. That was… Continue reading In a Storage Closet in Paris.