Showing posts from December, 2013
"you are such a light, and I'm hoping you can help me out of this darkness. I'm scared, I'm scared of myself. Everything hurts again and I can't see the sky anymore, you know? I'm so tired and I can't figure out how to want to want this existence. It beautiful, I know it is, but sometimes it so hard to see it."
You can’t see the sky anymore? darling, just crane your neck a little further, it’s right there waiting for you and it’s everywhere. You’re allowed to not always be happy you know? If you need days where you don’t get out of bed and eat an entire tub of ice cream by yourself that’s fine. And if you’re scared or lonely or sad, I promise that you won’t always feel that way. I always think that that’s the most wonderful part of being human. You’re so strong. You can always get up off your knees. You’ll be okay. Watch an entire season of TV in a day. Drink vodka from the bottle. You’ll be okay.
(wanna hold your hands until they melt together // until your fingerprints are my fingerprints.)
never knew how much I adored
him until last friday when I got my film processed
and there's this photo of us smiling
like we mean it.

I've got too pink lipstick and you
don't look like you; you
with a jagged softness in your brown
eyes so damned
light, so damned deserted.

This one photo where you don't look
like you're shitfaced from growing up
around here, this one photo where I
don't look like shit
/shit-tired from living here.

you're my ride
out and it still feels like riding shotgun in a stranger's car.
you are not the shotgun;
neither are you the stranger. I don't know if the stone
has hit rock bottom yet but
your tongue has crawled down my throat
so many times before I think you've
tasted so much of my grits and my winters.

(I think you must have tasted a part of yourself that night)
"this is where I got sharded in Sydney when I was sixteen", you say about the scars that i see run
down your right side when you pull off your shirt
if you knock on my door, asking me to stay for the night, i will sure let you in, even tho i know how your anger felt while burning between my fingers, and how you spell the name of God like it was yours, and i can easily say, you loved me in five different languages and each one sounded like sheets of music that one can only hear in the dead of the night if they’re paying attention. I know what your anger looks like too, like the inside of a house after it’s been set on fire, or the way your dad’s mouth curls when you argue with him but I know your softness more than that. How feathers could not have gentled my skin more. How you spent the night’s there were storms, the nights I was frightened of the noise and the movement, curled around the shivering S of my body whispering over and over ‘you’re safe, I’m here, I adore you.’
Do not tell me
that you love me if it is not true. Do not tell me that you love me and then expect me to forget all about you.

I still love the people I’ve loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them.

You asked me if I wanted to get drunk and stay the night, and I said yes, and we ending up just lying there in bed, my head resting on your chest, thinking about all the parties we didn’t go to or the roads we didn’t turn down or the words we never said because we thought they sounded too foolish or romantic or silly. And eventually we came to the conclusion that there’s always gonna be the nights when we break down in the car by ourselves listening to The Smiths in a dark, empty parking lot, or the days when even opening our eyes requires more effort than dragging someone out of a burning building. But then your hand drifted down and it rested over my heart, and we sat there like that for a while, smoking, the city outside just breathing and breathing, over and over again, all the lights out there symbolizing college girls pinching their skin in the mirror or two elderly people falling in love for what feels like the millionth time. The awkward first dates at coffee shops and the lib…
Despite what you’ve read, your sadness is not beautiful. No one will see you in the bookstore, curled up with your Bukowski, and want to save you.
Stop waiting for a salvation that will not come from the grey-eyed boy looking for an annotated copy of Shakespeare, for an end to your sadness in Keats.
He coughed up his lungs at 25, and flowery words cannot conceal a life barely lived.
Your life is fragile, just beginning, teetering on the violent edge of the world.
Your sadness will bury you alive, and you are the only one who can shovel your way out with hardened hands and ragged fingernails, bleeding your despair into the unforgiving earth.
Darling, you see, no heroes are coming for you. Grab your sword, and don your own armor.
When I was younger we lost a bird to a broken foot
And I cried for days until mum cupped my face and said
‘if you keeping loving so much you’ll spend your entire life digging yourself out of the heart cavities of people who do not love you in the same way.’ And then, I couldn’t tell her that we talk about losing naïveté like shedding weight as though it’s the best thing that could happen to us and nobody told me that it’s okay to fall headfirst into people and if they move out the way, well it’s okay to collide with the floor too Trust me, they’ll talk about loving carefully, like it’s picking your way through a dark field at night and no one told me that loving is not dangerous or shy
but grabbing fistfuls of rasberry’s and trying to fit as many as possible into your mouth or apple bobbing or those dumb trust exercise they make you do at workshops It’s about falling, irregardless of scraped knees or broken arms or bruised bones and even bruised hearts it’s all about falling
and getting righ…
I’m only honest when it rainsif I time it right the thunder breakswhen I open my mouth —I wanna tell you but I don’t know how.I’m only honest when it rainsan open book with a torn out pageand my ink’s run out —I wanna love you but I don’t know how.
So I don't know what's going to happen now, and I am terrified to the bones, but I promise you this, I promise you that whatever happens, I did, I do and I will love you.

And I need you to remember that.
I need you to remember that regardless of whatever that might happen, you are hands down, without a doubt, the most amazing thing/person that has ever happened to me.

I cannot tell you how much I miss you.
There isn't a word in any dictionary that could thoroughly describe how much I miss you.
They say absence makes the heart grows fonder, and yeah that's true, but it sure as hell makes you lonely.

How do you stop longing for someone who is so close, yet so far?

The things I'd give/do just to be in your arms again.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

You are my North star when I'm lost and feeling blue.

And I will write.
I will write about you.
I will write about things that remind me of you.
I will write about places that remind me of you.
I will write about y…

“i’m not a girl, i’m a storm with skin”

She smokes Marlboro lights
in an attempt to eliminate the pain.
I just wish that she knew that putting
poison inside of her body may help at first,
but the aftermath of the action will only leave her
feeling as damaged as she did before,
or it may make her feel worse.
She kisses random men in attempt
to get the taste of your mouth out of hers.
If only she knew that locking lips with strangers
doesn’t always wash out the memories.
But she’s trying, and it’s an ongoing battle
Between her head and her heart.
One part of her, the logical side,
tells her that if she was happy before,
she could be that way again.But this time, without you.
Her heart always seems to overpower
the reality of the situation,
and it tells her head
that there is no future;
no brighter tomorrow without you.
She is caught inside of the feeling
of her skin against yours, and the sight of two stars
colliding and creating constellations
in which only you both can see.
She should have known that even though your body
resembles a universe filled…
I didn’t mean to
fall in love with you. It’s just that
whenever I am
near you, everything
suddenly feels
as if it’s going
to be okay.
So I just changed my blog header and added in a (somewhat of a) description, and I either love it or loathe it, still trying to figure it out, but I'll most likely change it back, because consistency.

Oh! and I updated the playlist c:

Boys with strong jawlines and soft eyes kill me

We exist only in cycles –
    the water cycle
    life and death
    matter in motion 
   – history repeating itself again
                                    and again. 

Falling in / over / out, but always 
some tragic kind of   f  a  l   l
Tonight, I’ll fall (see) asleep on a funeral pyre rather than cheap cotton 
sheets and burn to death everything of me you ever touched. Rise 
from the ashes in new skin and dust you off 
like you were never part of this topography. 

It’s okay – people leave. I am not desolate. 
    Let’s fly in opposite directions and find
            better things to love.

Little dandelion seed of burnt ash, 
I’ll blow you into the wind so you can take root somewhere far 
away from here. Make yourself at home in a different kind 
of soil. 

Nothing is left of Our History
and the Us Era has run its course.…
i. you tell me about leaving and I feel my eyes growing watery, you ask me f  think you're a poet and I cry into your shirt.
ii. the night you leave, I touch every book you touched. (do you still taste my blood in your mouth from the last afternoon our lips touched?)
iii.  (I'm working on not writing about myself so much so that I remember) your voice the memory of afternoon half-light in your room on sundays our parents are out of the house; I think I am smoke by the time you touch me under the duvet. Your mind/body like a desert and I am a fugitive, on the run from a city of glass and luxe and concrete, there are your feathers everywhere.
iii-v. there is lightning when he hold each other close / I don't remember ever writing like this.
iii-v-v. sometimes I think you keep me human/ remember I think you let me turn myself into an animal.
iv.  Make love on a bed I wouldn't see for months. make love in a room I will never see again (you tell me, stop taking things so se…

❝ My heart is mute,—my heart is mute ❞

—— Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
(sorry for the lack of updates lately, I've been concentrating more on my book, but I promise I'll start updating more frequently)

okay, carry on.
If you could
make a deal
with God,
what would
you say? I’d tell him
that there’s
too much
in this world.
Our deal
would be that
if I had my
heart broken,
nobody else
That love
would last.
That there’d
be no more
tears. But, we
never had
the chance
to make our
deal, so
I’m left
here with
a broken
heart and
so are