Airplane Mode

I slide my phone on airplane mode
Because it reminds me of the way your eyes look
Right before we’re about to take off

Airplane mode
Because it’s surreal to be in the clouds with you
And you grab my hand when you look out the window
Like I’m the only thing keeping you on the ground

Airplane mode
Because you give me that look as we’re ascending
And I know you’re scared when it gets bumpy
As you play it cool and click your seatbelt together

Airplane mode
Because your heart is beating 6,000 mph
And you span your wings out when I reach up to your atmosphere
To give you the first kiss of the night

Airplane mode
Because I’ve never seen you speed faster than when you’re undressing me
And I make you feel like you’re part of the Mile High Club
Even with both of our feet on the ground

Airplane mode
Because when I’m above you I look down to seeing you soaring
And I feel like I’m Amelia Earhart
Right after flight across the Atlantic Ocean

Airplane mode
Because you’d rather I just be your flight attendant
And you remind me of that guy fueled by cranberry vodkas
Way too drunk to be in first class

Airplane mode
Because everyone else is in awe of the city out the window
And you slide the curtain over to cover the scenery
Like nothing good is waiting for you on the ground

Airplane mode
Because you start to let go when we’re coming down
And I remember that I’ll always be as disposable to you
As that bag of peanuts you didn’t want in the first place

Airplane mode
Because you’re starting to get sick of flying
And reach up to grab on to your oxygen mask
Like I gave you a reason to use it

Airplane mode
Because you’d rather crash than let me lay you down gently
And your engines shut off so abruptly
Before we even get to the destination

Airplane mode
Because I was loving the view that I painted just for you
And you decided not to fly
Even though I would always keep you up in my sky


Teddy Bear

I wake up, and I’m scared to roll over
He’s genius, captivating, and looks a lot like Hercules
That guy that my left butt cheek is touching
I’ve heard him say my name 1,000 times with animation and pleasure
Like the way you give your order to the Starbucks barista when you’re fienin’ at 6AM

I rolled over and his eyes look as dull as he makes me feel
I was his favorite thing, like that old stuffed animal you used to carry around that always made you feel comfortable and safe

I watched him watching me laugh last night and I think I saw his soul glimmer for a second
Then he remembered that I have a vagina
Cause those are fun, especially when you’re inside of one

I heard you laughing at me, not with me
You can do anything you set your mind to
I’ve cheered you on so many times before
That’s pretty crafty of you
The way you can separate your penis from your soul
And the way that you keep telling yourself that I’m a goddess in your bed and your nothing outside of it

I’m sure you fantasize about having your teddy bear and porn star all wrapped up in one
Ready for action
As long as it only wants to play with you when you’re good and drunk
Cause I love being your blow-up doll                                                                                                                                                           Until you remind me that you can pop me so easily and feel me deflate in your arms

But I have more passion in my pinky than I’ll ever see from you
And I am more than my vagina, and a little more exciting than your teddy bear
And, unfortunately, we’re all wrapped up in one

str8 MAN

Its like when youre at the bar and your eyes lock with a girl from across the room, giving her the wrong impression because the truth is you don’t even like girls you were just admiring her outfit but you decide to take her to the zoo anyways and you immediately find the zoookeeper and look him right in the eye and you say “fuck you” with every ounce of emotion in your being and as good as it felt he is going to forget about it in 2 weeks just like you forgot everything you learned in 10th grade Spanish because you spent the whole class staring at DEAN  , hoping he might invite you over to his house after school again to smoke pot out of his bong and listen to sublime while watching a muted English premier league soccer game, and even though you hate sublime and you hate watching English premier league soccer you hold on to the hope that maybe he will give you a hummer in his Hummer this time.


stir fries

I was at safeway picking out a green pepper for stir fries right? when this nice polis woman came up to me she is related to big polish restaurant owners in Baltimore and she asked me “what are you cooking?” I said “im cooking breakfast burrtios, duh“ which crazy because polih people make pierogies like its no big deal one time I went to my polish friends house and his mom made the best pierogie I swear they were so tender but its tricky because cooking pulled pork is so difficult honestly timing is everything like finding the best valued moonbounce for your 23rd birthdy party and having the right mount of stuffing at thxgiving no more no less honestly and you find yourself in a position where the right balance of salt n pepper is pretty crucial for the best mashed potatoes that need to be mushed by the best musher but I really think that if youre making mashed potatoes that maybe a good stir fries might be in order.


Do You Really Want to “Kill Yourself?”

So I’m about to dive deeper than ever before…I usually only feel comfortable delving into sensitive and intense conversation in the confines of three fiddy or amongst the best of friends, so this may be a bit of an awkward read; but, unlike the rest of my awkward antics, it’s worth it to stay for the show.

I want to start out by saying that I am truly comfortable with just about anything, and, unless you’re insulting my dance moves, I am not easily offended by vulgar comments that would make the majority of the public shudder.  I love expression in terms of metaphors and analogies–I often “beat a dead horse” in using them, as they are usually the only way I can get out in English what I am trying to say.

However, as of late, I have become extremely offended by the majority of the public and it’s lazy expression.  Scrolling through my twitter, I never realized how often people say things like:

“Just woke up 2 hours late for work Image

The face and gun pair is pretty self-explanatory–you’re having a really shitty day.

More frequently in everyday life, we make the middle-pointer finger trigger and pull it up to our temples, evoking the same emotion.  I am the first to admit that I have done this in the past.  “Let me go kill myself now” could be indicative of how you feel after a professor hands you back a test with a big 63% on the front; a temporary, fleeting emotion of helplessness that will soon subside after you sit down and have a bowl of mac and cheese and a beer.

I’m all about the drama–it’s fun to exaggerate to express the silly or idiotic things we do throughout the day, so I get why this phrase-usage was created in the first place.  Unfortunately, for some people, this feeling isn’t a fleeting emotion.  It’s real, it’s ever-present, it’s excruciating.

It wasn’t until the loss of a family member to suicide that I began to feel that these little “comical” phrases were distasteful.  His death was certainly the most traumatic thing I will ever experience.  I can’t help but feel for my family and friends that are haunted by similar experiences–I small part of me wanted to write this for myself, but, mostly, this is for them, and anyone else who has ever struggled with depression.  For anyone hoping for a little change, I’m looking for others to end the casual use of the “I’m gonna kill myself” phrase along with me.

I can feel myself sounding like just another advocate for those less fortunate.  These movements are everywhere, and I’ve been annoyed by them before.  People come from so many different backgrounds, and you never know what’s going to offend people anymore–everyone is so touchy, and nowadays it feels like we have to tiptoe around everyone’s (sometimes minuscule) problems. I’ve always been hypersensitive to the misuse of words like “retard” because of my mother’s special education background, and feel it is a common duty to correct those who think it’s acceptable to use this word in his/her everyday vocabulary.  Organizations and good people worldwide have taken a stand to end the use of this word casually–and I believe a similar ban on empty suicidal phrases should follow suit.  It just makes sense; making light of such a serious subject does not.

It’s just so easy to find other phrases to express our sorrow in the moment–I prefer to say things like “shitballs” when I burn my toast or stub my toe.  I’m not asking you to change your lifestyle or start a petition with me–I’m asking you to try to do better, and think before you speak.  We’re all human, but let’s work on being better humans.

Life is so bountiful and worth living….and I promise, those late night drunk texts that made you say such a self-loathing phrase will be funny tomorrow.   Pick your head up and get living!



Ally and the Skin-Crawlers



Sometimes I crawl out of my skin.


It started happening when I was around nine years old. Over the years I’ve tried to understand why, and I’m sure at this point that there’s no scientific reason. It just hits me out of nowhere. In a crowded bus, in the middle of a classroom, in my car. My operating system acts normally, but then all of a sudden a destructive virus decomposes and destroys all of my carefully programmed files and folders. It’s like a layer of sandpaper forms in between my muscles and skin and, no matter where I look or which way I turn, the feeling creeps over me as ivy does on an old wall.

I debated telling people about it. Thought about making plans to start some sort of Skin-crawlers Anonymous club… but each time I’d begin my confession I could see the catharsis covering their own eyes. It felt like sitting on a see-saw. As soon as I’d pour a little bit of myself out, my partner would bounce back and pour a little back on me. Both of us so weak, I wasn’t sure what was holding us together in the first place.

Over the years, I became a magnet for other skin crawlers. I fell in love with them, became their best friends, followed them around like hungry dogs. I was an addict. Addicted to sorrow, addicted to pitying myself for my self-appointed affliction. It gave me power, it gave me a false sense of strength. In a world filled with skin-crawlers, no one could be better than me.

Sometimes people would surprise me for a second here or there. I would be with a boy and might catch him staring at me. I would look into his eyes, hoping that he could see behind the skin and into what I wanted to be seen in myself. But time and time again, the look of conquest and glory glimmered and glowed within the dilated pupils, appearing as another symptom for skin-crawlers. A need for validation.

I started to emulate the cold and unfeeling. Pretend that I didn’t need my skin. That it was just some shield against the cold and rain, and that life was about coming to the conclusion that love and happiness are just another drug to get through the day. This helped the crawling. It stopped it in it’s tracks, but it made the world gray and complacent. Like the scream that fails to arise in your nightmare, or the vacant taste of butter when your mom makes you cinnamon buns but your nose is stuffy.

The quick fix to the skin crawling was the blaming. I blamed it on my parents, on my friends, on boys, on society. They were all part of the environment that taped my fingers to the wall as soon as I reached for something beautiful. They were all part of the mediocre force that rolled into one being working to keep me small. Working to prove some fraudulent theory made up of superficial premises.


So when I met Ally, I didn’t know how to take it.


I used to read obsessively about the flappers. Girls in the Roaring 20’s that cut their hair into bobs, put on short skirts and donned red lipstick. I was always particularly interested in their eyes, how they shone with danger and recklessness.

Ally’s eyes held the daring hesitancy of a girl gathering her hair into that fatal last ponytail. You knew by the way she looked at you, that her skin had never crawled. Her voice quivers and questions, not because she needs answers but because she knows you need a safety net.

In a world of skin-crawlers, everyone falls in love with her. But the allure is that she doesn’t notice. Not because she thinks less of herself, but because she doesn’t realize how extraordinary she is. When I first met her, I wanted to believe that it wasn’t real. I wanted to find some flaw, some moment of weakness. I wanted to see her crack. Be fake, be mean.

I had lived in a world of disappointment for so long that I had built a life around it. To find someone who couldn’t disappoint me, would have ruined it all. As time continued, my fears proved to be true.

Ally cradled me with her soft voice and her fearless hands and forced me to see a world through her eyes. A world where strength doesn’t come from bringing others down, but from falling underneath the world’s footsteps and embracing its ankles. In the moments when I wanted to crawl back into my shell and revel in my sandpaper world, she dragged me out and became my second skin. The skin that had been called fat, ugly, too dark, too flawed fell away, and became a shell. Behind it was the love that she forced me to accept and made me believe I deserved.

The problem for people like Ally is that she’s too good for us skin-crawlers, but she’d never admit it. She gives and gives her precious skin away, until she’s a grinning skeleton waiting to tear off her bones. I see that weight moisten her eyes sometimes, when she looks down at us all and wishes that someone would pull up at the hand she silently reaches out.

I keep coming back even when I know her mind is dried out and she almost can’t take it anymore. Sometimes I feel like we’re killing her, but I know that we’re all too selfish to stop.

I imagine that had DaVinci met her, she would have been the Mona Lisa. Or had she been on the road, she would’ve been Elton’s “Tiny Dancer”.

For these reason, I’ll keep hiding her underneath my skin.

Your summer reading list: Rashida Jones, Elizabeth Gilbert, Bill and Melinda Gates and many more share their book recommendations

TED Blog

Books - vector illustration

Summer: the season for cracking open a good book under the shade of a tree. Below, we’ve compiled about 70 stellar book recommendations from members of the TED community. Warning: not all of these books can be classified as beach reads. And we think that is a good thing.

books-Elizabeth-GilbertPicks from Elizabeth Gilbert, author 

The Principles of Uncertainty by Maira Kalman. “The only book I have ever bought by the crate-load. I give copies of this sumptuous masterpiece to everyone I care about. I could try to describe it further, but … it would be more efficient if you just read it yourself. (Watch Maira Kalman’s TED Talk, “The illustrated woman.”)

Age of Wonder: The Romantic Generation and the Discovery of the Beauty and Terror in Science by Richard Holmes. “I just finished writing a novel about
18th- and 19th-century scientific exploration, and this engaging book was a…

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