diary of a ghost girl

shay alexi’s debut chapbook is a seance in eighteen parts, dissecting the mythology of girlhood over the course of a week. It explores the intersections of queer identity, feminine fellowship, zombie movies, and much more.

diary of a ghost girl is a reclamation of the power and intimacy of femininity and queerness. it is a testament to healing and resiliency.

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advanced praise:

“These poems, like all of Shay Alexi’s poems, made me want to celebrate myself. To read Shay’s work is to be struck by the power of self-love and its ability to illuminate every dark corner of us. I finished this book and moved through the world that much braver, a little more ready to fall in love with every good and beautiful thing I see.”

-Clementine von radics, author of mouthful of forevers

"'Diary...' is a work that calls out to those who believe in a higher power- most especially to those of us who believe we are the higher power. It reckons with the uncomfortable and brings with it an undeniable light.  "Diary..." exhumed a grief I thought I'd hidden and gave me the courage to call it by name. Shay Alexi's work is brave and untethered- I am better for having encountered Shay's work." 

-Ashlee Haze, nationally touring poet 

Shay Alexi writes "my first love has always been myself" & I want to tattoo it on every bathroom mirror I stand in front of for too long. These poems are playful in their gravity & heavy in the way they ask me to keep moving, despite death / erasure / little violences the work takes back & reframes, asking "aren't I an artist / stealing myself from myself." Here, the dead act on the living with purpose. Diary of a Ghost Girl gives the reader the gift of humor alongside tension / confession / the bottom layers of everything, inviting us "to live within the deepest wells of yourself & / learn what you are filled with."

— Emily O'Neill, author of Pelican and a falling knife has no handle

Diary of a Ghost Girl is a sleepover on the moon. and with the moon. peek a boo, the flowers here breathe fire. mid-catastrophe and chill. dispatches from girlhood but also from dreamscapes but also from a radio in some back room of the heart. ghost stories pressed into candle wax, marshmallows roasted over the flame. these poems are playful yet sharp. breathing inventory. bones polished and arranged just so. expansive yet matter of fact. your own name said three times into a mirror.

— Jess Rizkallah, author of the magic my body becomes