Artist of the Month January 2018

I am addicted to writing songs about things I hate. I find it nearly impossible to write about these things I obsess over. Which frustrates me into a worm hole of further obsession. Because I can’t write about 2 eyes the cold comfortable hue of a refrigerator light glowing in the temptation of a midnight snack. And how I rub your head with my finger tips and press my open palm against your skull like I could push right through the bone and grab a gushy handful of your brain and take a chunk of it home with me to devour later. In my underwear, off a plate, in that refrigerator light, like cold Chinese. So you grip my face and scold me for taking more than you wanted to give, and I can feel my smile rising and push my cheeks through your fingers like a handful of clay, malleable in your grasp. I’ll miss your lap and the heat the between my legs and showering off my sticky thighs in the quiet when I get home. And oh will I miss the stern, saccharin voice melting from your lips hovering over my open hungry mouth. My mouth that slams shut when asked to sing a word about you. Nobody deserves to hear my dirty words. Nobody deserves to know you like I do.