Showing posts from March, 2013

❝You like him because he’s a lost boy. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.❞

You are right.
What if I leave.
What id we all leave.
Just because we're somewhere else doesn't mean anything's going to get better and then I thought about this and I got so fucking scared what if it only gets worse.
I clawed my way our of the rabbit hole;
don't let me go down there again, I beg you please.
" I love you."
you imagine hearing the words from someone not related to you, someone not your best friend, but when someone you love, someone you dream about, actually says them, it makes your body melt and your breath gets caught in your chest.
"you love me?" I asked, leaning toward him.
He nodded.
"say it again," I said. I let my knee bump against his.
"I love you,: he repeated.
Sometimes I think that I’ve stopped writing about certain things is because it has become too hard for me to do so. My brain doesn’t want to work into fitting all those thoughts about all those things into a language and twenty-six letters.

There are times when I feel like I could write a novel, miles and miles, about the smallest, most insignificant topics, like how to eat a piece of toast in the morning, or how to read a book, or how to hold the sunshine in your hand; or the largest, most important topics, like how to take a photograph of a girl who smiles like she’s about to cry, how to love the city of San Francisco, how to be sad without letting it show. 

And other times I don’t know what to write at all. It’s like all the languages in the world couldn’t possibly hold the power to transcribe the kinds of things that go on in my head. There’s a part of me that gets lost in the translation, and I could never tell people just exactly how I feel. 

Maybe that’s why I’ve sor…
let me steal from your lungs a breatl. let me run my fingers across your chest. let me study while you stand tall. let me love you, flaws and all.
I wanted him
to spend the night.

He grabbed my
shoulders and said,
"in you is everything
you need to be happy,"

and left me standing
alone in the doorway.

"And if a double decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die."

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out, The Smiths.
"Make love to me in Spanish.
Not with that other tongue.
I want you juntito a mi,
tender like the language
crooned to babies.
I want to be that
lullabied, mi bien
querido, that loved.
I want you inside
the mouth of my heart,
inside the harp of my wrists,
the sweet meat of the mango,
in the gold that dangles
from my ears and neck.
Say my name. Say it.
The way it’s supposed to be said.
I want to know that I knew you
even before I knew you.
That's what's killing her.
She's lost; she's full of fear.
Sometimes she's uncomfortable in her own skin.
She wants to flee, disappear, and turn off the thoughts
swarming through her head.
She wants to lock herself inside her room
Where no one could see her,
the outside world frightens her.
She would rather be alone
where anxiety
haunt her.

I want you to crave me. From my lips, up to my words.

Before you fuck up and call her anything less than her name, before you grab her by the arm you need to know the trigger that you are pulling at. You need to know that the safety is never on. You need to know her history before you tell me that this isn’t my business. You need to know that her history is my history.

See, she and I, we come from the tribe of raw knuckled little girls who call our father by their first names and wear their mothers like bruise coloured war paint under eye. We grew thick skin before we grew permanent teeth. We learned to piece together our own families in the backyards of rented duplexes where we promised plastic faced babies better things in soothing tones that we mimicked from TV. We do not have daddy issues even though our daddy’s have issues. We have piercing eyes and promises to keep. We grew up to be nomads surveying domestic war zones with black eyeliner binoculars, always refusing to camouflage. We threw our heads back and laughed …

No one ever comes into your life and tells you how much they miss you. They just come into your life and hope that you will miss them instead.

The last time I held the rain, my hands felt more alive than they did when they touched skin. I want to crawl underneath you and take a nap there.‘Would you really rush out, for me now?’ It makes people happy when you smile at them, like you gave them a secret that’s only theirs. Cigarette smoke doesn’t warm up your lungs in cold mornings like you think it might. ‘Blindsided’ - Bon Iver  When was the last time someone made you question your very foundations?Long walks in the winter are nice when you don’t have any place else to go. Holding my best friend for the longest of times makes me feel safe. Music frees me. ‘In the morning I’ll call you.’ Sometimes I get very homesick even when I’m home and that makes me wonder where home really is. Hearing ‘this reminded me of you’ is probably one of the nicest things. There are nights when I long for warmth and human pressed up against my side that it’s physically painful.
I thought near-death experiences were supposed to make you want to be alive.

"Sometimes you’ve got to be able to listen to yourself and be okay with no one else understanding."


"Beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain."

The day they peeled my body from the bathroom floor
they said that the scars on my thighs would heal over time
as though hands could knit me together again like grandma’s Christmas sweaters 
they told me that the acid in my stomach
would not swallow me whole that faith makes a person 
but I

I wrote myself into existence between the legs of men who wanted to nail my broken self to the floor and keep me there
between men who owned me because I couldn’t own myself 
my very own eyes turned themselves inside out to betray me so don’t tell me that I am lovely because the last man who fucked me twisted my mind into a battlefield 
and I can’t remember what beauty looks like without seeing guns made from words pointed at my forehead 
but I

I looked at myself naked in the mirror every day for a year 
ran my hands over the shapes at my hips and my breasts and the jut of my stomach
where hope had been clawed out of my body
and I swallowed pills that told me I could be beautiful
if I looked at my reflection hard…
this is dumb but sometimes it makes me really hopeful that there are beautiful people out there not just externally but inside who actually like taking time to drink stuff, and wait for their tea to get cold and read books in coffee shops and have cute beards and rings on all their fingers and wear beanies and break into song and be completely unashamed of being who they are and i think it’s nice to not care what people think about you all the time and i also think it’s nice to watch things through windows and smile like you have a secret you don’t want to share and people are just good and kind and they move wonderfully and one time this women gave me her bus pass because i looked lost and i really needed it because i didn’t have any money and i actually waslost so everyone would probably be happier if they could just remember that

“I think the reason why you understand someone’s pain is because you’re someone who has experienced the same kind of pain”

and while there is this
wide wild
love falling from me
the simple thing
i am trying to say
“in loving you, i have found my way.”

A Structural Guide to Vulnerability (Yours.)

(The moments I felt you most were when-
Cheekbones (Zygomatic bones) - I held your face between my open palms. I might have melded you with two questioning fingers and the strength of my will but when you turned your head to shafts of sunlight, you were as sharp as a knife and I could only gentle you, sooth. There was a grace in you even when you were still and I - 
Collarbones (clavicle) - kissed your hollows where you were as elegant as moonlight, and your hands gripped the back of my neck to hold me to the wings of your body where you like a flightless bird, arched your back to let me -

Spinal cord (medulla spinalis) - curl myself around your vertebrae like a vine where you were your most fragile and there was uncertainty in you, as though you didn’t know if I would clasp and break you. And I might have done, when you were lying at your most vulnerable to let me love those -

Hipbones (innominate bones) - spaces where you dipped and curved like mountains  but the sides of …
I know I cry a lot and for many things, like sad movies or failed grades, abandoned dreams and songs that remind me of the past. Stupid things too, like you, and all the problems I've created for myself in my head. But lately, what I've been crying about most is myself the person I used to be and lost and the person in the present with no clue about her future.

Eye contact: how souls catch fire.


If you're going to
leave my life
at least close the door
behind you
because the cold winds
still rush through the doors
and linger around my home
leaving an eerie chill
that just reminds me of you
and of course I get curious
so from time to time
I follow the footsteps
you left behind
and each time I see you
you seem perfectly fine.
when you meet the other half of your soul, you will understand why all the other lovers had to let you go. when you meet the one who deserves your heart, you will understand why you and all the other have to be apart.
“One day I hope to rely entirely on myself.”

He regards her across the ridge of his spectacles the corners of his mouth drooping down, he is all sulk and moodiness. For once she does not attempt to kiss away the thundercloud of his expressions. She is deeply inside herself, watchful, curled into the tapered edges of her body like a cat.
“Why?” He asks. There is a resigned curiosity in the question. It is his ‘what-have-I-let-myself-in-for’ voice not his ‘sex-at-five-in-the-morning’ voice not even his ‘you-have-destroyed-me.’ He has seen too much, he has memorised the timbres of her voice.

“Because you are not going to stay, no one does. And I have seen a great number of people come and go and each time I have felt less as though the spaces they leave behind are getting smaller and smaller. Or as though I have filled the holes in myself and I don’t feel much anymore and I think that maybe one day I’m going to watch that last door shut and I’m going to be completely okay …

We gotta start teaching our daughters to be somebodies instead of somebody’s.

when i say i’m the worst, i mean it.
i am everything every one wants
to hear: i am nothing but this disappearing
act gone
all wrong. sometimes i can even feel
the mirror peel off me. and here is my skin -
even that is gone. i am sand held
together by a quivering
girl soul who would do anything
to smash my bones whole. and here,
here is a gone girl.

" I want to die. I am tired of this world. It's not that I was bullied or that my parents were unkind or that I had suffered any sort of tragedy; I am tired. I have no dreams, no goals, nothing I want to do, no one i want to meet... I wish only that I was not afraid to make such a permanent decision...?"

You don’t want to die, maybe you want to sleep for a very long time or for months, maybe you want to go into hibernation like a bear but you do not want to die because if you think about it, dying would suck, it’s crap, there’s no light and there’s no wifi.

Listen to me, I would bet anything that you’re young, that you’re striving, that sometimes you want to pick up your feet and run very very far away.

Travel somewhere, leave everything you know behind, pack a bag and your passions and go, you are every teenager who is looking for something and you’re special because you’re you. And there is no one else like you, but people feel the same things you know? Like I feel that way a lot of the time too but I can see that I have so much ahead of me left, so what if you don’t know what you’re doing with your life right now it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all, maybe you’ll figure it out and maybe you won’t but that doesn’t make you worthless, it just means that you’re hum…

How does one learn to love themselves?

Peel your skin off when you’re looking into mirrors, you are beautiful and human and unlike any other, remember that, look at the pulse of you beneath everything you might hate. Be patient with yourself, be kind, stop criticising. Read and listen to things that make you feel wonderful and yearning, be appreciative of your intelligence, your mind, list parts of yourself that you like. Be gentle with your body, okay? It takes time to realise that you’re more than what you think you are. Other people have seen it in you already, but you won’t quite always be able to find it in yourself.
I want a late night adventure. i want someone to call me up and say, “i’m outside. let’s go do something!” i want to go out late at night in my pj’s and my hair all tied up. maybe drive around. go to a park and just swing on the swings. maybe sit in the grass and watch the stars or maybe go to a 24 hour food place and pig out. i just want a late night adventure with people i like to be around. no drama. nothing but good vibes and good company.

Beautiful Things About Water

The person you love is 70% waterThe earth you love is 70% water “I want to be like water. I want to slip through fingers, but hold up a ship.” — Michelle WilliamsWater carves the path of least resistanceThe sky cries liquid water, sings solid water, and breathes gaseous water“The cure for anything is salt water. Sweat, tears, or the sea.” — Isak DinesenWater reflects like a mirror or a danceBe like water, swallow the moon and the sun in the same day


I draw this on every page of my book that I write on.

How big or small it is, means how big or small the urge is.
before you fall in love with me,
let me tell you that I smoke too
many cigarettes, and I would
rather watch the moon on a
Saturday night than go out and
get drunk at expensive bars with
people that don’t give a damn about me.
let me tell you that I am yesterday’s
paper thrown in the garbage, unread.
I am not a romantic midnight walk
down by the park, or everlasting
roses that never wilt. I am not a
gracious ocean, but rather a humid,
filthy swamp. so before you fall in
love with me, run.

Pink Lake, Western Australia


Things To Tell My Kids:

Your body is your own
and whatever you do to it
is your decision. Just remember
to love and appreciate
the skin you have been given.

You are going to fail
at one point or another
and that's okay.
Pick yourself up,
and grow from it.
I will still love you
no matter what.

Society is wrong
when it says that
you need to be with someone
in order to be happy.
You are complete and whole
on your won.
Anyone who tells you otherwise
can go to hell.
You think I’m not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you’ll burn.
Parents tend to forget that their faith in their children plays a role in their childrens’ faith in themselves. We are raised not only by their standards and/or general guidance but by the way we perceive and observe even the most insignificant moments at a young age.

And it’s those fleeting moments of stability, love, kindness and unconditional forgiveness that shapes us— or the opposite. We witness certain things at a peculiarly young age, in a particularly awkward stage, and sometimes we keep quiet about them.. Because we didn’t understand at the time, or maybe because we didn’t want to. But we always remember the things that parents think we’ve forgotten or didn’t take into account or notice.

Age is a funny thing.
The more generations you’ve lived, the more you forget how it felt to be 12, 16, 18. And at 12, 16, 18.. we wouldn’t be able to even fathom the knowledge that the older generation has acquired throughout the years. I just wish, sometimes, that there was a …

I waited, as if the sea could make my decision for me.

mr. angel, point-blank.

‘How did you do it?’ I want to                                                                                                 to ask him, ‘how did you love                                                                                     someone else who loved another. didn’t love you back.’ Wouldn’t love goddamned couldn’t —— you back.                                                                             But he, he is not here To answer me, I am the only voice Right now. The loneliest Voice.                                      And so                                                                         I am plucking the feathers from my wings;                                                                                     Too tired to stop the Fall anymore.
you're asleep and I'm sad
I wanted to stay up all night
and talk with you about
your day and why the sky is blue

everything is so easy with us,
our words flow back and forth steadily,
like the gliding of a ship
atop a calm sea.

when I feel broken,
you mend me with your words
when I have nothing to say,
you effortlessly occupy the silence

you fill this gap inside me
in a way that makes me forget
I was every incomplete

I'd tell you all of this
but you're asleep.
i cheat. i lie. i steal. i went away. i ate the rest of my heart. picked the frost from my teeth. there always seems to be a bigger sort of kill.

— “For Women Who Are Difficult to Love,” Warsan Shir

“You tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.”
I think we all just want
that one person who
would do anything
to keep us from
a bottle of

People you can’t shake off.

You realise along the way that one person has played such a monumental part of shaping who you are, that you don’t know how to be yourself without them being them. What happens to spring when the leaves fall in love with autumn?
I’ve been searching for you everywhere. In the knots of the last strand of hope we had to hold on to, in the womb of your laughter as I watch it tumble down your lips from across a room that is more miles apart than it really is, in the corner of my long ago smile, in the pockets of memories that got caught like sunlight in webs of your hair. You are always and never there.
You realise that you can’t be you without them being them. That the DNA doesn’t flow right, that the nuts and bolts in your soul just don’t fit. And then you realise that even though you’re the one who’s been calling yourself a writer this whole time, they are actually writing you. That no matter how badly you may want your own name in the byline of your story, the pen will …

“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.” — Neil Gaiman



isn't it strange how with a combination of twety-six letters you can steal someone's heart and captivate their soul? even stranger is how with a different combination of twety-six letters you can make their eyes fill with tears and give them enough pain to last a lifetime.
You are my next best thing and I am holding on to you. I am trying. Someone like you could really make things right for someone like me, but what’s not right for me is that you already have someone to sing to sleep and I only have my bed sheets.

I think we all know why I hate dreams like this

Dreamt you were there
Dreamt we were together
Dreamt we drove down to the coasts with the wind in our hair (forgive me,
I do forget the lengths of our hair) and
The brine in the air and we
Laughed like wolves that neede no
Home as long as it was your hand in
Mine. /// dreamt like I never hurt.
Dreamt like I never was going to wake up.

But we all know how dreams like this end
With me pushing off ruffled sheets trying to find a
Trace of you. (god, someone call the
Exorcist, there's a ghost a memory and it would leave me

I am getting my hair cut this Friday. I
Can't wait to feel free from the weight of
Everything I had to suppress instead of
Breaking my own lungs.
[Dont get me wrong,
I don't miss you anymore.]
It boils down to me either writing about you, or about how I am pouring tides of sadness into my lungs. If I'm lucky, there are some days where I don't feel my tighten anymore. There are some days where I can breathe.

I am thinking o…

I'm not leaving, just distancing.


I was never meant to stay in people's lives.

There all these people the nomads, the gypsies, the ones who wander the world searching, always searching, with never a heart to rest theirs against for more than a year, at most, with never the same people by their side.

I am one of those people who are meant to crash in and out of people's lives, change it in the smallest and most insignificant of ways so they don't notice but when and if they finally do, it's too late to catch me. I'm already gone, leaving nothing but a memory that exists in a half-dream and  ghost of a smile that dissipates when the evening fades to grey, and they only remember me in dazes, smoky hazes and drunk conversations, and they wonder where I got to, and why I left.

"Somewhere far",I say to few who ask. And simply because they've never given me something I wanted badly enough to stay for.

But I've always been do captivated hunter though of running not because of the adventur…
You make me ache -
But not with the way you
Make my chest
But the way you make me
Not want to hurt
Myself anymore.
What if I had the last puzzle piece In my jeans pocket So we'd never have to finish?
You could somersault across the fresh-mowed grass Let out a twinkly laugh and squinch up your bunny nose
You could run your toes over the carpet
And swirl your coffee one more time   Close your eyes and Inhale the cotton candy air.