A blog and burrow by Nicole Buzzelli
Shapeless
The more lines I draw, the less shape I got. But I guess, the more shape too.
The Half Bad Poem
I never remember the thirst in my body until it rains
and my chest starts heaving thank god thank god.
Dear You, Who is Also a Tree—
This is a love letter because there are still some places where I can't use the word without tripping over myself. Have you ever wanted to tell somebody that you loved them, but you weren't even sure how you meant it? Well, I love you, whatever that means. I just hope it reaches you in time, but I'm also no longer pretending that I know what time is up to these days.
Dear—
This is a love letter. Maybe also a grief letter. Maybe, though, same-coin.
This letter is addressed to you if you want it to be, and it's not if you don't. I think with grief, we sometimes just need a witness. I write this letter in case you do, too. It's been a really hard week. Mostly, I've been coping. My heart's been about the breaking lately. Once this week, it happened that my heart broke all the way down. But then ten minutes later, I thought up a riddle: Fuck, fuck, fuck, how far down does down go if that down wasn't all the way down?