Just in Case

just in case,

there’s a temporary tattoo on my phone,
that you told me to put on my hand,
that you would have put in an email,
had you known where to find me.

ring the Wisconsinites,
before I walk into the night.
(maybe hang by holiday the lights.)
ring ’em before I need ’em.
(intertwined lines aren’t for my neck.)

and your only hand isn’t for mine,
as I cry while Christmas closes.
i slur a denial that i’ll do anything,
but you reach out to me anyway:

just in case.




i think i needed to hear
that you’re human.
that you feel.

i’m spilling my guts here
and finally i feel like
you’re not being
fucking fake
for my sake.

or maybe for yours,
because i walk a line
with my heart in hand,
ready to hand it to you,
far too easily.

i’ve not mistaken you
for someone you’re not;
i’ve just mistaken you
for someone you’re not
to me.

at least,
i want you to be,
even though i know
you can’t.

you can say,
it’s all good,
but it’s not.

my heart’s an orphan,
and i’m too old
to adopt.



Does Not Compute

Good news:

I figured out
the trigger!

I think I kind of knew
all along,
but it was just too
to admit.

Like, I would find it really funny
if I didn’t spend the past six weeks
crashing through some terrible
thoughts and feelings and behaviors
that I haven’t experienced in
at least four years.

And if I told you the cause,
I’m not sure if you’d be
confused, or

I’m gonna go with confused.

So get this:
Had I fallen far enough—
and I was genuinely afraid I might—
you might have literally
killed me with kindness.

Because poor Erin’s little brain
cannot fathom why someone
so refreshingly normal,
so seemingly well-adjusted,
so objectively likable—
not to mention unbelievably
inspirational and successful—
would waste any time
on someone as
as her.