May 2012
80 posts
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I don't Love You
I don’t love you because you drove an hour to my hometown and an hour back just to have lunch with me
And I don’t love you because you bought me lunch at Wendy’s and grabbed extra napkins
I definitely don’t love you just because you left a note on my car that I found when I got out of work an hour late tonight, a note that read YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE
I don’t love you...
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Process
I look back
at old pictures and old posts
old pictures and old pictures
and old statuses and letters and poems and messages and posts and pictures
and I watch myself get raped and curl up to die over and over again
I’m sure you’ve watched your favorite movie millions of times. I’m sure you’ve dabbed your eyes at the same old parts, screamed at the actress on the TV:...
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Your Hand Full of Hours (Paul Celan)
landsinorder:
Your hand full of hours, you came to me - and I said: Your hair is not brown. So you lifted it lightly on to the scales of grief; it weighed more than I… On ships they come to you and make it their cargo, then put it on sale in the markets of lust - You smile at me from the depth, I weep at you from the scale that stays light. I weep: Your hair is not brown, they offer brine from...
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Gaps
The saddest thing about poetry
is the gaps between the words
The sense I forgot to make in between
the silence of sheets and pillows and the crack
in my voice
the craters in the moon
I can’t say I love him but I would love to
There are gaps between the words in this poem
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czar tonight.
it’s been too long // yes yes yes yes yes
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Taylor
He’s eating sushi in the break room. He looks like a black bear, not a teddy bear, but there’s still something soft there ‘cause I remember it. And I wouldn’t remember something that I had just imagined. We are re-defining “small-talk.” It is so small. Like the smallest space you can put between your pointer finger and thumb, small. He is moving in a few months,...
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Casey, a Poem
He has been my most difficult writing project ever ever ever. I have come to realize that I simply cannot describe his blue eyes because I can’t figure out how they got so blue. That is the only plausible explanation.
thedustdancestoo:
we’ll pack each other away in boxes when the time comes.
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27
I recall waking up as if it were a normal day. The sun faintly made its way through the crevices between the blinds. A strand of hair swooped backwards across my neck and landed on the pillow beneath me as I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. It hit me like a hammer to the chest, a big iron club that would thunk a villain on the head in an ACME cartoon. Facial muscles contracting, I looked at...
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Recycled
Today I see a relationship status, new and fresh like a daily headline in the morning paper, of a boy I used to know when he was dating my friend. He is now linked to the name, to the lips, to the heart—soon enough—of someone else. And it’s always a strange feeling, one can imagine, when the high heels you wore out time and time again but scuffed and tripped in are now polished...
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Old Fart
The sound of children laughing and splashing in the pool on Summer Monday across the canal
and I am sitting on the seawall behind my house, carelessly dragging a cigarette. That used to be me, you know. It won’t always be like this forever. You’ll grow.
They can’t hear my silence but it’s loud, buzzing in my head like the bee that is soaring overhead. I cover my...
Today I am getting the Brooklyn Bridge installed in my mouth at the dentist’s office. Just kidding. But really, yes, my permanent bridge is finally being put in. And if I like to call it the Brooklyn Bridge, well then so be it. I’m nineteen. This can’t be good. I don’t have bad teeth, I just favor chewing gum and nicotine far too much and had one bad cavity too close to the...
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There are so many things
that I would like to write about. Many moments I’ve mentally starred, hours of dialogue snippets that I have scribbled down for literary keepsake, lots of bottled emotions to spill onto the page. But sitting down, fleshing them out … not something I’m about to do, currently. Soon. I promise. Just not today.
In the meantime, does anyone have any good suggestions for my summer...
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Anonymous asked: How old were you when you were raped? and how did you cope with it?
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Untitled
Lately I’ve been scribbling on my liner, dark. Without him.
He makes me feel beautiful. It’s been two weeks since I have seen him last and I will anxiously race home to those arms tonight. I need to feel something, I must revive beautiful.
Put down the pencil and scrub. Watch the ink sink through the pores of the drain and my pores gasp for breath for the first time in days, once...
Anonymous asked: sometimes i fall off the face of the internet world, but when i stumble onto my laptop and type an 'f' to go to facebook, i always click the second most popular link that begins with 'f' - your blog. keep writing, beautiful!
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blind man sees and knows it's real
Watch a father who can’t afford his groceries ‘cause he’s run out of money on his EBT card take back orange juice and a loaf of white bread so he can buy his overweight son a carton of ice cream
Get fucked in the mouth to the point of vomiting in the name of love
Witness a good deed and a suggestion for something to be done in return
Watch a mother get away with murdering her...
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“In the beginning, all women were created equal. In 1851, a higher standard was...”
– ALPHA DELTA PI <>
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Mother Monster
You are every mother’s dream. I am sure you got her a gift that sparkles in the sun and made you cringe at the register as you dug deep into your pants pocket. You’ll sit across from her today, I imagine, at a lovely Sunday brunch with white linen decor. Sunlight dances through the window, peering through thin lace curtains. You say thank you - for your life, for your looks, for your...
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Virgin
I was wearing white lace underwear when I lost my virginity, the insides stained with blood. The dried Scarlett letter. Sixteen. To this day I do not know what to make of my decisions back then; I ponder the reasoning behind tucking the set of lace in a black and pink handbag, next to an empty pack of cigarettes with “finished 6/27” written in pen. A scribble heart is to follow.
I am...
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the motto
for the peace sign picture
Clothe yourself in memories; strip your way to freedom.