Potluck

I’m a senior, and I don’t have anything figured out. I don’t know how to keep myself from re-tearing ligaments sometimes, re-opening relationship wounds sometimes, needing therapists. I don’t know how to make people like me. I don’t know how to drink from a Nalgene without spilling liquid all over my lap. I don’t know…

where the deer and the antelope play

I don’t know where home is, anymore. It used to be where I had always lived, in the middle, as I put it in my Common App essay, of cows and Christians and corn forever. Only the rare birds took flight from this verdant and comfortably monotonous landscape. I was that rare bird of my high…