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Hi, I'm Izzy. This website is under construction.

I like to write about the things that nestle in between your ribs, at the bottom of your throat. The regret curls up inside of your esophagus and goes to sleep—and it's cavernous. It aches. We sip at grief like water by our besides and we let it congeal in the pit of our stomachs. Let me pick the seeds out of your teeth.

I also write about little guys that I make up in my head. I put those guys in so many situations.

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