I've never claimed to be a poet; I've only ever claimed that I'd try.

about pastries and poetry. bitter and sugar-free.

anecdotes and shenanigans and punctuation.

head-banging and face-palming and poetry.

I didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________________