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Showing posts from March, 2014

"in response to you're in a car with a beautiful boy"

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. 

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root n your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, except he doesn't know he's beautiful.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy who thinks he's mediocre and you're both choking down awkward stammers and stutters, because these days, "I love you" is a dangerous fucking thing to say. You're trembling and he's trying his best n…

“Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.”

"We're here, there, not here, not there, swirling like specks of dust, claiming for ourselves the rights of the universe. Being important, being nothing, being caught in lives of our own making that we never wanted. Breaking out, trying again, wondering why the past comes with us, wondering how to talk about the past at all."
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You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy. 

You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.

If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start aga…

How a cynic falls in love:

When I realized I loved you 
it was not romantic 
Not flush with pink roses & wine
but rather normal 
Rather standing in line at CVS 
clutching a four pack of peanut butter cups 
& cold medicine
It was a quiet realization 
Like checking the weather I was currently standing in 
"Huh. It’s a bit warmer 
than I would have guessed.”

❝ And I will stay, and I am going to lie down beside you and be good for you. ❞

how to not understand life and be okay with it:

if you don’t like your name don’t use it.scream at the sky, whisper secrets to the ocean, hold hands with clouds. the world is yours if you want it to be.do things that make you nervous and let the feeling consume you until you feel scared and alive and want to throw up.don’t worry about falling in love.pick flowers whenever you see them and leave them wherever you go.kiss all the things that make you happy and all the things that make you sad, kiss everything that makes you feel anything.weave stars into your clothes and always remember that you came from them and will go back to them again someday.never empty your pockets.light dead flowers on fire when you’re feeling sad, let their smell fill your lungs and make you forget about life.diet coca cola will make your head spin and your throat burn, drink it when you’re feeling like things are going to get bad.if a boy with pretty eyes asks you who you are, show him your scars and your freckles and your bruises and let him know that you…
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Running with scissors.

I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention. For exactly the same reason, it is sometimes satisfying to cut yourself and bleed. On those gray days where eight in the morning looks no different from noon and nothing has happened and nothing is going to happen and you are washing a glass in the sink and it breaks-accidentally-and punctures your skin. And then there is this shocking red, the brightest thing in the day, so vibrant it buzzes, this blood of yours. That is okay sometimes because at least you know you’re alive.

—— from Jessica Valenti’s He’s a Stud, She’s a Slut and 49 Other Double Standards Every Woman Should Know.

❝ I had a boyfriend not so long ago who, whenever we got into an argument, would accuse me of “going soap opera.” “Here comes Telemundo!” he would shout. His (clearly gendered and vaguely racist) insult was supposed to make me feel like my anger wasn’t valid—that it was frivolous and silly, that I was being overly dramatic. This was his not-so-subtle way of trying to shut me up—by accusing me of being emotional. (Unlike men, whose anger is always logical, of course.) Unfortunately, calling me out like this often worked. It felt immobilizing to be called dramatic. Even if you know you’re being reasonable, we’ve internalized sexism so much, sometimes we even begin to doubt ourselves. ❞
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Stop. 
You can’t love me because you’re lonely, or because I am the only one who doesn’t piss you off. 
I want to piss you off, 
I want to get on your fucking nerves. 
I don’t want the responsibility of always being your rock.
I will try, but I’m a mess, too. 
I lie, I sleep too much and I crack my knuckles too much, not to mention the time I take for a single shower. 
I’m always looking for the rain to come so I trip over my own feet. 
I know exactly what the air smells like before a storm. 

Before you fall in love with me, I want you to know that I cry a lot because it feels good, and I probably eat too much chocolate while I'm curled up on the bed and you might fall out of love with me before either of us are ready for it. 
I have no experience with this.
I’m trying to be brave and smart but its almost impossible to be both at the same time. 
You can’t love me like a fire escape. 
Sometimes I will be the match, or the smoke under the door. 
I don’t know what I’m doing, all I know is that we …

“i have galaxies hidden between my bones and i will love you until the stars burn out.”

11 reasons why I'm not going to fall in love:

People say that when you love someone you see stars when you kiss them, but stars burn out and leave a bad taste in your mouth and holes in the sky where light used to be.When I was 9 I broke my arm and I was convinced that I heard the bone shatter and I started screaming and crying and I had to spend 6 hours in the hospital. I saw the X-Ray, there were cracks under my skin, I don’t want another 6 hours in the hospital and cracks in every bone in my body when you say goodbye.My sister fell in love with the boy who lived down the street, the one with dark hair that always fell into his eyes, who spoke in twisted poetry and kissed her like she was all he would ever need, when he told her that he met someone else she stopped eating and only wore long sleeves no matter how hot it was outside, she didn’t smile and she stopped writing poetry after that.I know that when I meet a boy who makes my stomach flutter I’ll want to take him up to my roof and make him count the stars with me the way…

- Nicholas Sparks

"It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on."
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"When I was 15 I was statutory raped. I've been coming to terms w/ this lately bc of my approaching 18th bday (today incidentally). I'm confused as to whether or not it was really rape. I mean I stayed with him for a yr & 1/2. Our relationship however was very emotionally manipulative & emotionally abusive. Perhaps I was to blame for some of it because I was 15, afraid & unstable. But he definitely mistreated me & pressured me a lot. I don't know what to do now or how to cope. It's scary & sad."
Baby, it’s okay. You’ve got to forgive yourself for this. When someone is mistreated and abused, the blame is always on the other person. Yes, you were young and niave, but the fault was with the man who took advantage of that, raped you, and manipulated you. You should not have had to have lost that innocence in that way, to have it ripped from you by a man you tried to love. Even if you were interested in being with him and having sex, he – the a…
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in the 1950’s they were worried about another Ice Age, i eat chocolate covered almonds and pretend i am wearing gowns made in Egypt, when the phone rings i never say hello first, i tell my plants that you’re going to be stuck inside these walls forever and i can hear them rotting to the sound of your name, i have patches of the ocean breathing inside of my skin.

my mother keeps asking me to carve my soul into the moon and i keep trying to explain to her that i am paper-mâché and you can’t swallow rocks even if they’re coated with pomegranates and syrup, i wash my face with apple soap and boys with black lungs trace continents with their tongues against the curve of my neck, i wake with burgundy bruises decorating white skin, i tell my father that the cigarettes that fall out of my jacket are my boyfriends, we’ve been together for two years and his scent reminds me of broken lamps. 

when people tell me they’re numb, i askwhat color they think their souls are, mines translucent i always r…
i wasn’t going to drink tonight but life never turns out the way you plan it. 
i have to catch a plane this weekend. 
i have to write a paper on the difference between an individually constructed self and a self that is formed by
environment and circumstance.
i hear coyotes and owls every night. 
i feel airplanes vibrate the walls. 
the sun shines in my approximate space but never directly through any of the windows.
you’re here. 
i kiss you all the time.
you take your meds and fall asleep early. 
i sit in the dark and drink slash write slash breathe.
i only look old when i smile.
all of the corners in my face reveal themselves. 
those wrinkles snuck up on me. 
everything did.

FIRST KISS (fleeting and beautiful)

When I fall in love, it comes out screaming. You say that you’re no good for me,
and I smile and kiss you anyway.
You tell me I should leave in a voice like whiskey
and I murmur of course, of course
as you teach me things I never knew
about my seventeen-year-old skeleton
and the muscles that strap it down.
When you light up a cigarette,
you warn me to never smoke.
It kills your lungs, but you fall in love.
I’m not lying, then, when I say
that you are my most beautiful habit.
My heart is an unmade bed; 
it might look messy, but I swear 
it’s a safe place to rest.

I feel small; but so are stars from a distance.

slow mornings drinking coffee in bed and your hands on my face when you kiss me goodnight. marry me.

marry me.
let’s spend our week nights eating cereal on the floor
when there is a perfectly fine table behind us.
we can go to the movies and sit in the back row
just to make out like kids falling in love for the first time. marry me.
we’ll paint the rooms of our house
and get more paint on us than the walls.
we can hold hands and go to parties we end up
ditching to drink wine out of the bottle in the bathtub. marry me.
and slow dance with me in our bedroom
with an unmade bed and candles on the nightstand.
let me love you forever.
marry me.
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Fall in love with
the sound of her
voice before
anything else; it will be the first
thing you will lose
when she is
gone.

“It seems like life gets really great, just before it falls apart.”

- William Chapman
Nothing says hungover on a Thursday like being sick, sad, and forcing yourself to choke down soup at nine in the morning. Need a day for thoughts, probably, the time to sort them through and unwind the muscles in my back. People shouldn’t have the power to hurt each other so badly. People should have pasta soup and naps for days and never have to feel sad when they’re smiling.

01:38am

idea: buy air conditioner and space heater for bedroom, turn them on, see if they make a tornado
idea: stop taking all your medication and live violently, the way god intended
idea: get out of bed, buy dry erase board, write to-do list on it, never cross anything out, never do anything
idea: get out of bed
idea: i don’t like Queens because all the buildings and short and square and it reminds me of my gym teachers teeth and  the way he touched that girl and it makes me very nervous to talk about
idea: i used to love sleeping but now it makes me feel scared and dead


idea: if you brush your teeth long enough can they get sharp like fangs?
idea: a phone that senses when you’re drunk or sad and then blows up before you can text anyone
idea: an ever lasting kitten fountain
idea: when my uncle was 17 he was drunk and hit someone with his car and they died and he never got caught and sometimes i think i am just like him
idea: don’t ever get murdered ever because if the cops go through you…
The one who begins this poem won’t be the same as the one who will end it.  Already fifteen minutes have passed since I wrote those lines. I take my shirt off.  The day is getting warm. Yesterday I learned two words:  Geheim, which is German for secret.  Temem, which is Arabic for plenitude.  In a few hours a hundred million people who do not speak the same language will gaze at the last eclipse of the millennium.  Bonheur, what a beautiful word when formed by the mouth of a French Buddhist.  Didn’t I tell you words should be emptied like a vessel? didn’t I tell you I loved Schroedinger’s cat? Kept for days in a closed box the cat can either live or die, but until we look, it is neither dead nor alive.  Next question.  Ask me what light feels like, at the instant when it falls.  The one who ends this poem is not the same as the one who will stand accused and be forced to deny it. Can sorrow be weighed in gravitons?  Is fear genetic?
Does the soul know it exists?  Does it echolocate its way in this worl…
Each word is a room, windowless. Robed in glass so light passes through it. Crystal, jellyfish, translucent skin that covers your blue veined hands: words are these things, a lens. Eyes mean one thing when I am looking at you and another for everyone else. The difference is, your eyes hurt me. The word eye is too shallow a descriptor to hold something so full of beauty as your pink tinged gaze. Even in this, pink brings to mind watered-down red, a dilution. When I say "pink tinged", I mean to conjure a vulnerable, snow-covered, bleeding color. There is nothing lesser than red or lesser than anything about you. There is only a visceral tingling of what we call pink. But these words are not cradles, they cannot hold you. The horizon line buckling beneath the sky is too round to be surmised by skyline. Likewise, fragments like fingertips coloured with orange peel, the fork of your two with teeth, the way you hum like you are holding a harmonica in your windbox do not mean nearl…
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The point of your story is not to fall in love. The point of your story is to struggle. Your story begins with a lie and climaxes in a truth and ends with a kiss. In the movie of your life, forty-five minutes are devoted to you figuring out how to say that you want to kiss girls, and another half-hour is devoted to people’s objections, and maybe the last fifteen minutes is you kissing the girl. Maybe you don’t even get to kiss the girl. Maybe she tells you that she’s flattered, but she doesn’t bat for your team.

The critics swoon; it’s realistic, they say, so realistic, to depict the struggle of the modern teen, the heartbreak of irresolvable incompatibility. Isn’t that always what celebrities cite in their divorces? “Irreconciliable differences.”

And so you’re lying on the floor of your bathroom, your knees curled to your chest, or you’re on your sofa with a pint of ice cream, or you’re in bed watching your favourite sad movie on Netflix, and the collective weight of all that you consu…
I loved you from day one.
I love you at 4am when you said you were so numb, it felt like your chest was being crushed to dust,
and I told you,
"I'd cut it into a line and snort it through a rolled up $10 note if it meant I could keep you."

You're in my bloodstream now.
It wasn’t this romanticised bullshit portion of my life, it was raw and it hurt.It was not speaking for four days and then eventually your voice on the other end of the phone choking me of every valid reason I couldn’t do this anymore, it was stomach acid rising up into my throat every time I heard your name on someone else’s tongue.It was your smell clinging to my clothes that cut straight to the bone.I ached in places I didn’t even know existed, and if I wasn’t thinking about you I was thinking about the space on my bed where you used to be.I can’t romanticise it, because it wasn’t beautiful. It was ugly, it was a dull ache when I couldn’t sleep. It was light years from here, I know, but I loved you.
I’ve closed more doors than I can count
but still people are drawn to me
like moths to an open flame.
‘Look at that girl,
look at how she wears her sadness so well.’
But it is not an accessory I can easily take off.
My pain does not make me interesting,
it just makes me human.

and amen, amen, amen.

You will one day meet someone
who can paint the stars from memory with
a tongue that can sing birds down from the
trees and a heart big enough to house
eternity, four chambers and so full of
love for every other person, four chambers
and so incredibly
rotten they will hate themselves with a force
you will not be able to counter. they will
ruin their bodies and minds and hold
their souls hostage and you will watch
and try to scramble to knit their bones
back together and maybe it will work for
a little but it won’t work forever because depression doesn’t care about love. self-hate doesn’t
listen to compliments. doubt doesn’t allow you
to pack it in boxes. anxiety will chew their skin
no matter how many times you chase it away.
the voices will come back, if not now, then
one day and maybe this feels like you’re stuck watching someone
self-destruct, but the truth is, even if their brain is ripping
them to shreds, even if depression doesn’t care: that kid
does. it might be loud in their head, but you’re the only
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Teenage girls aren't the downfall of society, society is the downfall of teenage girls

I don’t know what asshole invented the idea that teenage girls are the cause for all evil, but I really hope that person never has to raise one.  I don’t want him to see her dissolve in his fingers as society tells her to eat less, be thinner, be the damsel in distress, be something for a man to fix, be different but not too different, be special but never ever a special snowflake -  I don’t want him to watch as she realizes that no matter what she loves, she’ll be made fun of for it.  She can simply like her coffee from Starbucks and suddenly she’s vapid and thinks herself poetic. She’ll want to play video games but be called a fake nerd, particularly if she poses in any remotely flirtatious way because for some reason despite the entire community playing games with poorly dressed women they still hate it when a real girl wears less clothing, she will be seen as trespassing in a specifically male space - but when she falls in love with a female-based television show for children, she’ll …
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This is what I know:

A tree is still a tree even if it is burning.God might not be real but also he might be, so, there’s that.Faith cannot be a person.Faith is often a person.Everyone I’ve ever kissed has been a mistake, and I am okay with that.My love is going to be a fist unclenching; honey being poured over a sharpened spear so that they can taste me in the wound.Gravel makes my skin look like a pathway.When I fall, I pretend I’m coming home.Bees are necessary.I meant for this to be something more poetic, but it’s just a list of facts.It is possible to love someone without losing yourself.The ocean is still largely unexplored.There is no way of proving that life doesn’t exist on other planets and in other universes.Hawaii is the only state in America that has its own language.How beautiful it is, to belong to somethingand still be your own.

Nothing can be fixed // Everything can be healed

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My biggest issue is that I don’t know when to quit, I will love people until I have twisted myself into a new shape. I will love them brutal and careful and gentle and when it’s time to let them go I can’t remember how to unclench my fists from the back of their shirt so they have to break my fingers to get it to happen
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Reasons to fall in love with a writer #1

No, I mean it. you are so wonderful and open and honest, okay? you are like something I've never even touched before. I think you'd be the wildflowers on the mountainside or something. There's a picture in my head, when I think of you, but I can't get it out in words. I think of lavender when I think of you.
Delete every game off of your phone that distracts you from really living. Read a book instead.Turn off the lights and light the candles.Draw more. Sketches, masterpieces, digital, acrylic, do it all.Take long walks into the forest and sit there till the sun goes down.Watch the sun go down.Keep your room tidy as well as your mind.Stop questioning things that don’t need to be questioned.Smash plates without reason.Smash plates and smash every bad thought with them.The moon will come out every night. Stop wondering if she’s staring at it, too, and just enjoy the view.Don’t be afraid to say goodbye. Some people aren’t worth waiting for.They’re not coming back.It was not your fault.Don’t depend on anyone but yourself for happiness.Get up before five in the afternoon. Your room is not a prison cell. You are allowed to leave.
“Do you think some people are born evil?” He asked. Lounging on her bed with his legs splayed in front of him, he perused her with curious eyes. There was an open paperback at his side, the spine crackled under the weight of the pressure of supporting its words and she winced at the sight. 

“As nice as that is to believe,” she replied, her lips were emerging rose tinted. “I think everyone’s a product of their environment.” 

“Do you reckon you’re ever going to trust me?” He asked. 


She met his gaze through the mirror and shrugged. 


“Probably not.” She said. 


He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and folded his arms across his chest. The paperback was still uncomfortable and she wished he’d close it. 


“Why not?” He asked. 


“Because,” she was talking to the reflection in the glass, clipped her hair back and brushed a hand across her forehead. “Trust isn’t a present you can just hand over. It’s like evil, borne out of the things you’ve seen and heard, of the shit people have done to you. It’s li…