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Showing posts from February, 2014
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I don’t know much
but I do know that
you are not
made of tragedy.
So don’t call this a
train wreck.
Call it technical difficulty.
Call it the wrong stop on 
the right path.
Call it almost there.
Call it halfway.
Call it anything but over.
Because you are 
no where near over, baby.
This is the way things work
when they are just getting started.
So don’t hop off yet,
Not when you haven’t even seen 
where this is going.
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❝ Sometimes two people need to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together. ❞

I think you should stay. The doctors said there’s a gap between our hands that shouldn’t be there. They said that it would stop aching eventually but it would burn until then. They said you can’t be homesick for another person, I don’t believe them though. My legs don’t like walking into rooms that you’re not in. Last night I couldn’t sleep in the bedroom because my knees wouldn’t take me up the stairs. My thighs had told them they missed your hips. Nothing is agreeing with me. I’m going to a cardiologist tomorrow just to make sure they didn’t miss anything. Look, the thing is, I’m already on fire for you, I’m already leaving my doors unlocked and my windows open, I’m hoping you’ll crawl back into bed with me, I’m hoping I’ll wake up with your hands around my neck and your name in my mouth. The doctors will call, I’m sure. They’re going to say ‘there’s a blockage, and it’s leaking but it’s nothing we’ve ever seen before.’ And I’ll tell them ‘yes, it’s my arteries, they’re tying themse…
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"Because I have heard poets say things in front of roomfuls of strangers that made me pulse, made me sweat, made me want to push further, risk everything, be that beautiful."

— Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, “For the People Who Keep Asking Me Why I’m Still In Slam” from her book Everything is Everything (Write Bloody Publishing, 2010)

"I write love letters to the moon, and sometimes he writes back."

February horoscopes:

aquarius, this was not part of the plan.pisces, stop looking for a map in someone else’s mirror.aries, burn your to-do lists.taurus, pack extra underwear.cancer, listen to your mother.leo, slow down.virgo, delete the text messages.sagittarius, your heart is a venus flytrap.capricorn, they are not going to wait for you.scorpio, choose bravery.gemini, let them in.libra, look people in the eyes.

—— Beau Taplin, "A Goodnight"

❝ I want to fall to sleep with you,and I could care lesswhether it is inlayers upon layersof clothingor only our skin–all I really want is to wake upnot knowingwhere I end and you begin. ❞
{i will be on a one week hiatus as I want to get back to writing in my book as opposed to typing it out}
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"Stop loving people into corners."

On leaving.

Be honest in your leaving. Don’t keep the spare house-key. Don’t leave any of your things. Have your mail forwarded immediately. There is a difference between leaving, really leaving, and simply putting enough distance between yourself and him so that he becomes aware of the emptiness left in your place. Of course he will try to win you back; that is the easy part. It is always easier to get things than it is to keep them, and to keep them in good condition at that. Look at yourself. Would you say he has kept you in good condition? All the empty years; the drunken nights; the blind punches. All the confidence that has left you little by little so that now you avoid mirrors. You were once a flower in full bloom until someone sat you in a dark room for their own personal experiment. You betray yourself when you accept his calls. You push your womanhood down a flight of stairs every time you are foolish enough to believe he’ll change. You have mistook his company for happiness, think all…
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There are no real bad choices. Only things that do not always end well. Things we do out of tiredness. Loneliness. Because the TV broke. Because after the winter, there was still more cold.

We do things out of sadness and later cry about the consequences. 

All of humanity mourning over gallons of spilled milk. We call ourselves names. Bully our own reflections. Steal our own lunch money and spend it on useless things we think might make us feel better, if only for one fleeting moment. 
We do this because we are angry at ourselves. 
We think we have betrayed ourselves. 

Because we took the acid. Kissed the stranger. 

We think we've let ourselves down. So we punish ourselves in the privacy of our bedrooms. 

We draw the blinds. Break the glass. Rip the telephone from the wall. but these things only lead to more disappointment. 

Soon we are punishing ourselves for punishing ourselves. 
Soon we are all individual circles swirling past one another without looking up. 
Soon we've all forgotten…
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At the end she says,“I’ll find you amongst the stars forty, fifty years from now.”She looks so beautiful as she says it, a dandelion of a girl,caught by the wind, flushed pink.But this is not what I want to hear.

“Don’t fool yourself, darling,” I say to her.“If we ever meet again, it will be in this life and not another,it will be in these bodies, and that on its own is tragic enough.

Please, don’t make a saga of it, don’t make it a story of the universe.This is our story and we are bookmarking it for now.

We might come back to it, we might not,but it is still our story, and no one else’s and it is not made of fanciful things like magic or karma or reincarnation.It is made of you and I, your legs stretched over my lapas you read, the light in your hair in the mornings,our after 7 PM coffees, our need for one another,constant and demanding and too often left unfulfilled.

It is about these things because they belong to us,and us to them, and I do not need to meet you in the starswhen I have…
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D.M.R

I learned in school that war is what happens
when nations disagree, but the textbooks never told me that war is also what happens when parents disagree,  and when children throw insults harder than they hit baseballs
and when I cannot force myself out of bed in the morning because there is a voice in my head that tells me I might win the battle, but I will not win the — War is what happens when teachers call on studentswho don’t have the answers and they are left fighting their father once he sees their report card. War is what happens when it rains so hard blades of grass bend over defeated. War is what happens over telephone wires when a son tells his mother he is gay and her white flag of surrender is the phone going dead. I have seen war burst into being the moment girls think they’re too old to hold hands and again some years later when they’re too young to do more than that, but charge forwards regardlessonly to end up with semen exploding inside them like shrapnel. I have seen war ac…
You are 65% coffee and 56% of my thoughts are of you. You are forcing yourself to stay awake and I am making friends with Insomnia.
He sings me songs that remind me of you.
He tells me stories about the ghost in my room that has yet to visit. You won’t ever leave your hair on my pillow or your smell in my bed, will you? Your thoughts don’t involve me and you are losing sleep over someone else, aren’t you?
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(You think this is sadness:)

prolonged silences and longer showers and
simple things that require a lot of effort and 
ignoring your sister’s sixth phone call and 
starving because it is easier than making it to the kitchen and 
crying about a goldfish you had as a child that died when you forgot to feed it and 
sleeping fourteen hours a day and 
telling your friends you’re sick to get out of a birthday dinner and 
hating your own birthday because you don’t believe what anyone writes in the cards and 
keeping a sad playlist on repeat and 
needing someone to help you, but not being able to ask and 
cutting your hair off and 
cutting your mother off and 
crying about seven years ago and 
crying at a TV commercial and 
crying into your pillow so your housemate does not hear and 
not having the energy to text back and 
leaving the cat to meow outside your bedroom door because you do not have the strength to let her in and
feeling homesick when you look at the moon and 
missing the person you were at ninetee…
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I’m sorry, I haven’t learnt how to be brave yet. I know I promised that I would, I know we talked about it over the phone at 2AM. I clutched the receiver until my knuckles were white and tried to feel my way through the wires to you. It didn’t work and I cried for a week after because your voice was at my ear but not touching my ear and I wondered how I could feel you and not feel you. It made me wobbly inside, fuck, I couldn’t look at the phone for hours after. I couldn’t even say my name. And I know I said I would teach myself, but there’s a battle inside of my head and I’m just tough enough to survive waking up in the morning but not after that, not anything after that. Please don’t ask me what I’m going to have for dinner. Last night I drank two bottles of red wine and passed out on the couch wearing a sock and the sweater you sent over the mail. It doesn’t smell like you any more, it smells of me, I wish the both of us together were in it. I wish I could sit on your lap. I want t…
Curl up next to a heater vent. Drape a blanket over yourself. Fall asleep. Wake up whenever you want. The heater doesn’t stop blowing warm air. It sounds beautiful. Fall back asleep. Wake up later, if you want.

text messages god didn’t reply to

heyyy
i was at a party last week
were you there? i thought i saw you
———————————————————————————-
i’ve been thinking about you a lot since that night
call me and we can hang out sometime
———————————————————————————-
hey
have you talked to my bro recently?
If you see him, tell him i said hi
———————————————————————————-
you’ve got really soft hands
is that creepy?
sorry…
———————————————————————————-
why why why why why why me
———————————————————————————-
srry bout that
i was drunk
———————————————————————————-
havent heard from you in a while
u okay?
———————————————————————————-
is this even your number anymore?
———————————————————————————-
hello?
———————————————————————————-
Hello???

13 things my uncle told me before he died:

not everyone has the blessing to understand sadnesswhen waiting at the bus stop, it’s okay to smoke cigarettesnever touch anyone else’s clothes at the laundromatit’s okay to miss the people who were bullets to youwhen your grandmother asks you how you are, be honestnever be afraid to say “no” even after you’ve said “yes”if someone tells you graffiti isn’t art, prove them wrongremember people by their eye color not their clothesyou’re allowed to like dark chocolate with tangerinesdon’t lie that you don’t have a lighter when you really doturn your phone off every once in a while and find the moonif you want a tattoo, don’t let anyone tell you not to get itif you ever find yourself at the graveyard, read the names
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" Someday you’ll find the right person, and you’ll learn to have a lot more confidence in yourself. That’s what I think. So don’t settle for anything less. In this world, there are things you can only do alone, and things you can only do with somebody else. It’s important to combine the two in just the right amount."
There were always warning signs but you were blinded by hope and and thoughts like, 'Maybe this time it'll be different'. You chose to stay inside a burning building until the smoke became too thick to clear and the foundation began to crack. But now it was time to get yourself out. No one tells you, though, that trying to move on is a kind of death that you inflict upon yourself. People always make it sound so easy, as if by emptying the stuff in your house, you can empty yourself of the love you still feel. The memories you have like to coddle you. Laughter and late nights drunk on the feeling of being young and infatuated. They deposited in you the way sand deposits onto wet summer skin. They stick on you in the most unconventional places, underneath fingernails and knobby knees. But you let them stay because it reminds you of how you were once in the water and the sun was beating on your neck. You now know that was how you ruin yourself. Before the word us turned into some…
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Nothing fascinates me more than stories of lovers who have lost their half.

Sometimes feelings are irrelevant.A kiss can be just that, a kiss. Completely meaningless.Love can be one sided but I still wonder if that is love at allNever beg for someone to stay or to love you. You should not have to beg for someone to be a part of your life or to love you. You deserve better than that.Stop breaking your ribs to make space for those who do not belong there.Learning to breathe again is harder than the doctors said it would be.I don’t know what hurts more at night; being alone or being in love.Laying with someone in bed at night is temporary. It won’t get rid of the lonely. You will still wake up and leave in the morning with a heavy heart and no hand to hold.Sometimes the sky rains gasoline instead of water and you have to be strong enough and ignore the urge to set yourself on fire.I will be okay someday. Bad things happen for no reason sometimes and things end but that should not mean you should come to an end too. The ocean will always have waves; I just have t…
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My texts to you turn into a poem and that is one of the stupidest things about me. The other is that I’m so fucking sentimental it swallows me whole. 

I can’t go onto my balcony without thinking about the night you overdosed and I sat on the phone with your for hours after you’d fallen asleep just to make sure you were still breathing. 
I can’t look at my window without seeing the day that we draped my blanket over the window to block out the light. 
I can’t bear the month January because it’s when I met you. 
I can’t handle people whose names sound like yours and I want to crash into every car on the road that’s the same as the one you drive. 
I don’t even put sugar in my coffee as an act of rebellion because you put it in yours. 
I can’t climb into my own car without thinking about the time you sat in the passenger seat and named our children. 
I threw out a computer charger because you used it, I broke a candle because you lit it and I can’t even look under my bed because you dropped a St…

Beauty makes me hopeless. I don’t care why anymore I just want to get away. — Anne Carson, from Short Talks

Things to do:

1) sleep with both windows open: Astral projection2) drink enough water there’s a small paddling pool inside you at all times3) draw your dreams and leave the pages squashed between bus seats4) don’t miss the past, it’s hazy for a reason
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watch it get darkwatch me carewatch all particles move through and around
all other particleswatch me fall apartevery word i speak or write
is me dictating my last will and testamentit somehow always gets postponedthe light gets cut into twentieths 
as it enters this bedroomwatch the day beginwatch me struggle to fight the gravity of bedi am separated too, and it is painfulnothing should be this far from anything else and
nothing is
but it often feels that wayit’s enough to make the bowl of cereal
taste like the end credits 
of some overrated oscar baiti love when my fingers are shadows
beneath a spinning fan
on the first day of rainit means so muchit means so muchit means so much
(aesthetic taste is v important in a match u cannot touch me if u dont like to have beautiful experiences)
Don’t fight fire with fire.
Don’t fight fire with anything.
Do not fight fire with water.
Do not fight fire with foam.
Do not evacuate the people.
Do not sound the alarms.
Do not crawl coughing and choking and spluttering to safety.
Do not barricade the door with damp towels.
Do not wave a white flag out of the window.
Do not take the plunge from several storeys up.
Do not shed a tear for your lover trapped behind a wall of flame.
Do not curse the combination of fuel, heat, and oxygen.
Do not ask why the fire fighters are not coming.

When they say: Don’t fight fire with fire.
What they mean is: Stand and burn.

I don't love you anymore.
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I write because I can. We all know we’re pretending to be something that exists. Wavelengths are on a different part of Earth than I am. They pass right through me: UV rays and microwaves; I am nothing to them. I am not an obstacle. Stop using I. Use third person. You do not exist. Become second, a secondary character in your own story. Speak to someone else who also does not exist. Pronoun change. He writes because he can transform himself in nothing and everything. This is Mitty and this is Tom and I am not in love with either them, and both of them are in love with me. I’ve been writing since I was so small that I could only reach my mom’s knee (and at best, she was 5 ft 2), and big enough to be insulted when the white lady at the cash register says, cloying, “Oh my, you have such good English.” Why yes, my English is … Good enough. I was born here. I was raised here. I am here because I was fed the same diet of children’s books and sob stories about gorillas and I was told I was g…

A poem in 4 parts:

Part I. Fuck you. 
Part II.  Fuck you. 
Part III.  Fuck you. 
Part IV.  Fuck you.

Important things:

puddles
carpeted floors to lean your elbows against
sun streaming through clouds like
         elementary school pillow fights, laughing through feathers
the way music sounds, the vibrations of your tympanic membrane
          realizing that the same lips that say hate can say love
                     (if they wanted to)
blood flowing through your body
your body flowing through space
space enveloping you like a warm cocoon, like a yolk inside an egg
warm baths where your body
                 is free to be a body
and hands
every type of hand
holding on to things, always holding on

stomping in puddles as hard as you can
rain boots and
light beams

and spaces between breaths
and breaths always taken
❝ My entire body knows when we are together. It sighs, uncurls like a cat, reaches and says “yes, finally, you are right here with him.” ❞
Until then, I will clutch your name to my heart like a slice of my ribcage.  Until then i will whisper your name like a prayer and we will all speak without actually saying anything.
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This is not a poem. 
This is a 3 a.m. phone call to 911 from the back of a stranger’s trunk.
This is a prayer. 
This is a bar napkin secret flushed down the toilet of a one-night stand’s studio apartment. 


A bucket list –
only 7) fall in lovecrossed out of it. These, my hands.
Things I would ink on skin if all the paper in the world disappeared. 


This is a swear. 
A gunshotfired, echoing, from a distance.
Me saying yes to myself and no to anyone who makes me feel like I don’t deserve it. 

This is the afterthought of a door slamming. 
The anatomy of a parentheses.
Another name for the heart.


This is my mother, seven years old and surviving on nothing but soy sauce for dinner.
This is never an apology. 
This is what the night would say if it had your mouth on my mouth before I punched you
on the mouth.


But mostly what the light would say. 
Always, the word stay.
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stop running after the waves. let the sea come to you.

❝ But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them. ❞

1.) You can tell a lot about a woman when she wears red lipstick.2.) ”We accept the love we think we deserve.”- The Perks of Being a Wallflower3.) Being a poet is not nearly as romantic as one would think.4.) I have a blank notebook that I am too much of a coward to write in.5.) Je t'aime
People will do a lot of things in the name of love. 
But the one thing you should not do 
is lose yourself.
There’s such a thing as toxic love
but we fail to teach our children about it.
Don’t stay for someone who knows only
how to tear you down. Who throws around words like
knives with you as the target.
Remember the child you used to be and
protect them.
Learn to how to hold your own hand and
sleep alone. You’ve done it before, 
you can do it again.
You are not weak for leaving. 
Repeat that. Tattoo it into your heart. 
Sometimes saying goodbye is 
the strongest thing you can do.
I promise not to love you like an after school special
and that my kisses will always be barbaric.
At night, I will bare my neck to the sword of your tongue, to the punishment
of your teeth.

I will wear the marks like a necklace
as people stare at your lip, bitten raw.

My mom tells me that I watch too much
television, so my idea
of love is all smooth skin and 
5 minute commercials when I get tired, but not here. Not you.

I will eat your sighs and harvest them in my belly until winter, 
until they ripen the shape of my name.
I will press my hands into the wet 
cement of your ribcage until
you can see fingerprints.

I will learn your anger. I will lick your sadness. I will feast on your hunger.

I promise a banquet for our ending.
I promise a parade of drums for the day you close the door behind you for the last time.
I promise not to carry you around with me like a mistake or a pack of gum, even when I forget what you taste like.

When they ask me about you, 
I will always smile.

I will say your name and it w…
“Girls are trained to say, ‘I wrote this, but it’s probably really stupid.’ Well, no, you wouldn’t write a novel if you thought it was really stupid. Men are much more comfortable going, ‘I wrote this book because I have a unique perspective that the world needs to hear.’ Girls are taught from the age of seven that if you get a compliment, you don’t go, ‘Thank you’, you go, ‘No, you’re insane.’”
They never really tell you how the moon got all those deep bruises. The story goes that the sun saw her one night as he was leaving the sky. He was so taken by her silver face, so calm and beautiful, that he felt himself changed at just the sight of her. In a thoughtless trance, he picked up a few stones and threw them towards her in order to get her attention.
But the sun was too strong, and the stones skipped over the black river of the sky and crashed into her with such a force that she fell back. After the stones settled, they began to spread large bruises across her face. The longer the stones stayed, the deeper the bruises got. The sun watched in horror as her face began to turn dark and patched with craters the size of the stones. He couldn’t make his way to her, for there was a barrier that kept them from ever touching.
The moon cried, and the oceans swelled under her pain. Her face was no longer the smooth silver jewel it had once been. She looked across the sky and saw the deep …

Dear future daughter,

When you’re at some party, chain smoking on the roof with some strange girl with blue hair and exorbitant large dark eyes, ask her about her day. I promise you, you won’t regret it. Often times you’ll find the strangest of people have the most captivating of stories to tell.Please, never mistake desire for love. Love will engulf your soul, whilst desire will emerge as acid, slowly making it’s way through your veins, gradually burning you from the inside out.No one is going to fucking save you, anything you’ve read or heard otherwise is bullshit.One day a boy is going to come along who’s touch feels like fire and who’s words taste like vanilla, when he leaves you, you will want to die. If you know anything at all, know that it is only temporary.Your mental health comes before school baby, always. If its midnight, and you have an exam the next day but your hands have been shaking for the past hour and a half and you’re not so sure you want to be alive anymore, pull out that carton of Be…

In Austin, someone has scrawled on the bathroom wall of a cafe on Congress Street, ‘I don’t know if you or I exist, but somewhere there are poems about us.’

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I am writing a book on how to write a book so I can learn how to properly explain why you look better with the lights on. 
I listen to a song but it does not mention your name so I stop listening to the song. 
Your heart is noise pop. 

White noise is ghosts missing the streamers that fall from your ears while you sing in the car.
Vermont is not far if you are already in Vermont. 

My cat looks at me and then walks away. 
He is named either after a famous musician or a body of water. 

There are so many words I refuse to learn how to spell. 
Still, I spell check your thighs after I bend you over my desk. 
I spell check the inside of your left ear while you bite yourself on the kitchen table. 

Prostrate. 
Today I am writing in grunts, I am playing in fonts. 
My chest hair is size 44 Comic Sans. 
My eyebrows are whittled away before I leave the mall. 

I have sat under the same sun as you for 17 years. 
Sometimes I have walked under the same sun as you. 
Once, I played tennis under the same sun as you. 

Rep…