Showing posts from August, 2014
It has to end like this.
The sun swallowing the world we created and all of our moons becoming so full on our promises, we turn into monsters.
I swear I wanted to give you something
better than this.
I wanted to paint the sky you saw in me, and I wanted it to be the color of you staying.
But you’re a paper kite disappearing
inside of a black hole, and I can’t follow you into something  that won’t let me back out again.

Miserable, darling, as usual, perfectly wretched.

So when people leave, I’ve learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to.Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return

And please please please whatever it is, remember that you are beautiful even before he told you that you were.

for the fifth time this month
you say you’re going to leave him
he calls you a cunt over the phone
then walks the three miles to your house
and kisses your mouth until the word is just
a place on your body.
i don’t know what brings broken people together
maybe damage seeks out damage
the way stains on a mattress halo into one another
the way stains on a mattress bleed into each other.
I am never going to write a six word story (not seriously anyway) bc what I’m seeing aren’t stories, they’re statements or feelings or whatever. Things like “I loved him and he loved me” or “I missed her most at night” aren’t stories. They’re sentiments. Which is fine but defeats the point. Hemingway’s “for sale: baby shoes, never worn” tells me an infinite amount of things in a numbered structure. It tells me of pain and grief and loss. The fact that he manages to do that in six words is nothing short of miraculous. Unless I can write a six word story with that much loaded into such a tiny space, I’m going to refrain. It feels like doing it injustice.
To keep a loose hold,
or to cling to the things you love?
To chance losing it all,
or never gain?
To let it go, 
or clench it in fearful fists? 
To take the leap and risk falling, 
or ensure you never know how it feels to fly
you called me last night.
that isn’t unusual for someone you love, is it?
normal for us, anyway. after i delete your number,
when the bruises are starting to fade,
when i’m learning to call out words that are not your name,
my phone rings. 
i look at the string of digits that i know like the color of your eyes.
i listen to the apple-generated chiming and i swear i hear an echo of you saying my name. and goddamn it, i pick up.
i answer the phone like you are not you and i am not me.
i answer the phone like it won’t lead to dishes shattered at my feet, to mascara-stained kleenex, to more hopeless 3 a.m. phone calls.
i answer the phone like we have a chance.
(but we don’t.)
i answer the phone like i love you again.
(because i do.)

 To love another is something like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

Fall in love w someone who treats all ur frustrating parts with patience and a kind of amused understanding.
Darling, you could be in a relationship for two years and feel nothing and you could be in a relationship for two months and feel everything.
If I’m a train wreck you’re the
carriage that caused it. We were
carousing around a track
and we knew love’s ups and downs;
didn’t listen. I was in
awe when it was level, but
you balked, backed up too suddenly
and we went sliding back down
the slope we crawled up. I screamed
but now when you lunge forward
and down, down again the voice
disappears and dies in my
throat like when I try to tell
you I love you over the
phone. We are all the clichés
and none; this is a ride that
goes back and forth in halting
moments. I make to leave but
I am strapped into you with
this binding barricade meant
to protect and to ensnare.
Love is a rollercoaster
ride, I have come out bruised, broken
and in pieces but alive,
like I have never been before

Five stages of being left

1. One day you wake up golden, and grey light is coming through the windows to brush against your duvet, cold reaching to settle around you like a fog, and he is gone like the shine from the light rays that don’t sparkle nearly as much anymore. You pull your covers tighter around you and try to sleep again.2. Maybe if you don’t acknowledge the reality it will surrender itself in retreat to what you wish to be true. Truth is always a matter of circumstance and maybe he’s gone because you didn’t fight and weren’t brave enough or maybe it is so because nothing was quite in the right place. You were all furniture in a house just a little off scale so everything ended up too cramped.3. Listen to the great poets. Write about what hurts. Know that another moment shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy. Wonder if he was the painful joy and if he has left you with a needle mark in the bruised crook of your elbow. Roll words around in your mouth and pronounce them how you never have before. …

Lesson one

Leave if your love hurts you. Leave if it is always more pain than it is joy. Contrary to what they’ll tell you, love does not make the world spin round. You can want someone. You can want them until you’re raw. That kind of longing can turn you into water after a live wire has been thrown into it. It can turn you into the hand holding that wire, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. It doesn’t mean you should stay. Don’t hang around just because you’re scared that you’ll never feel that kind of electricity again. It’s not true, it never was. The thing is, you were made to be touched by hands attached to a body that finds itself at rest when it’s with you. That finds itself quietly trembling when you’re together. Those hands need to come with gentle words and an honest mouth. A mouth that says your name in a way that sounds like the very definition of “falling.” So don’t take less than that. Don’t take half of that.Above all, if it hurts, go. You’ll fall in love so many times that you’ll …
The survival happens slowly. 
We forgive the oceans 
for bringing us here, 
and we forgive ourselves 
for eroding and 
leaving our own bodies 
when we thought no one else 
wanted them. 
We turn the shipwrecks 
into lessons instead of mistakes, and we move on like rivers 
chasing something better. We keep the dreams bigger than our failures. 
We keep the dreams bigger 
than what we lost along the way. 
And we keep going 
until the wars inside of us 
turn into quiet ghosts 
that don’t know how 
to haunt us anymore.
1. why write: It’s the only place in my head that’s quiet enough to breathe and loud enough to break things.2. aesthetic: winged eyeliner, red lipstick,  redder nails3. the process: Waking up at 2AM to vomit up poetry and then going back to sleep.4. the moment right now: warm and full of anticipation and anxiety.5. shortcomings: I will love until my hands are bloody and carry on loving even after that.6. a writer is: the closest thing to a human thunderstorm.

 I want every piece of me to crash into every piece of you, I swear to god that’s how they make stars.

But it really is so important to find people who don’t lose patience with you or get angry if you’re being irrational or insecure or downright ridiculous, it is so so necessary to be treated with gentleness from loved ones and not to be made to feel like you’re irritating or a burden

You disappear so completely into your head sometimes,’ he said. ‘I wish I could follow you.


1. Contrary to popular belief, waking up early isn’t going to drastically alter your life or effect how you’re feeling (even though you do get to watch the beautiful sunrise). So sleep till noon and relish in the way laying in bed all day makes you feel a little more human.2. Drinking your coffee ‘black’ doesn’t make you cooler or more sophisticated than the rest of us who load in milk and sugar.3. Being unimpressed by everything makes you look like a twat. Get excited, be overly passionate about something. Enthusiasm is fun.4. Hating yourself isn’t romantic.5. Eat whatever you want. your friend’s a vegan? Awesome. Listen to her talk about how great she feels because of it while you tuck in to some chocolate cake. Tell her you feel just as great.
I wanted to turn him into poetry myself, but I’m not good with words and he was already an artwork.

There are roofs and ceiling and walls, and then there is home.

Gentle Reminder:

I think once you’ve thought about how a person sleeps, how they’d feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you’ve thought about that, you’re just really screwed.

 And a mistake repeated more than once is a decision.

Something someone should have told me when I turned 18

Nobody is genuinely 100% happy. Nobody has skin made from oil paint and midnight.
Nobody understands this world. Fuck, nobody probably understands maths as much as they claim to.

You're here one day, and the next day you're not.
God? Religion? I've learned a lot more about the world by just observing and travelling.
Tell me what the church has done for you.
Tell me if you have holes in your mouth from speaking lies.

Wanna know the goddamned truth?
Pity is just another word for pathetic.

Drink beer and watch the sunrise from every rooftop with people you'd break bones for.
Take photographs.
Take photographs kissing.
Take photographs of things.
Take photographs of places.
Take photographs of people.
Take photographs.

Wanna know another truth?
Nobody really gives two shit if you lost your virginity at 14, it may seem like the biggest deal at that time, but give it a bit more time, no one really cares.
Nobody cares if you were president in high school either.
Or if you wer…
Don’t let yourself just be a comfort food for somebody that he just grabs and takes a bite when he’s down. Go be someone’s favorite food that he craves every single time.