March 2012
21 posts
February 2012
46 posts
dec25, 11-feb20, 12.
oh. i forgot to mention. 100 posts in 58 days.
that should speak for its(shit-has-hit-the-fan)self.
restring this heart,
‘cause these strands are threadbare and tired and together, hit the wrong notes
all too often.
“i consistently drown in thoughts of how a different beginning might have led to...”
considering everything,
i really can’t put it into words more beautiful than this;
i desperately want it to work.
“from horribly unstable to ludicrously uncertain.”
– now - how to define the present?
on:condescension.
you close me up, like the cool nighttime air ushers flower’s petals to huddle together; silence me, like the dimming of theatre lights. sap me of my strength like a creeping illness. level me slowly over time, like wind on a dune of sand. you shrink me, exhaust me, cheapen me, silently. it never takes much but the feel of your blackening gaze.
sometimes love is blind.
and sometimes,
mute.
If Common Sense Was Used in Government and the...
Citizen: I don't believe in abortion.
Government: Then don't get one.
Citizen: I don't believe in birth control.
Government: You don't have to use it.
Citizen: I think gay marriage is a sin.
Government: Don't marry the same sex then.
Citizen: I want my kids to learn about creationism.
Government: Take them to church.
“i don’t think i’ve ever felt so whole in my life, when it comes to...”
– jen pitch.
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questions for the woman i was last night. →
an absolute must listen. she just understands.
“I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I...”
– Friedrich Nietzsche.
“What an amazing time to be alive, and doing what we’re doing. Isn’t it?”
– Anthony Shadid, who died yesterday in Syria, to fellow foreign correspondent Jon Lee Anderson last year in Libya.
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working hard, and being kind. →
“I have never met a man so ignorant that I couldn’t learn something from him.”
– Galileo Galilei
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title (optional)
body (required)
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“Don’t seek happiness. If you seek it, you won’t find it, because seeking is the...”
– Eckhart Tolle
it’s about a boy, that look in her eyes, the shivers up her thighs, the violence of teeth and lips. indeed, it was about a boy.
“you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am...”
– Charlotte Brontë
askew. →
“Celebration when your plan is working? Anyone can do that. But when you realize that the story of your life could be told a thousand different ways, that you could tell it over and over as a tragedy, but you choose to call it an epic, that’s when you start to learn what celebration is.
When what you see in front of you is so far outside of what you dreamed, but you have the belief, the...
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leave me standing
on the blue of shores
where you found me first—
a speck of the horizon on the tides,
not yet faint beyond the sun.
archive.
i could scroll through the volumes of my own history forever, spotting favorite poems dotted like loose pearls in a jewelry drawer. i often revisit them as i would a childhood vacation home; arms spread wide, gulping breath after breath of the briny air i so longed for, half-heartedly trying to quell a heart swelling with emotion while secretly reveling in the pain.
because there is a pain, no...
keep goin.
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“I usually solve problems by letting them devour me.”
– Franz Kafka
“For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don’t enjoy getting up and...”
– Andy Rooney
I know you have the best intentions but I feel like I am a very high second priority for you. That hurts. And the worst part is I am starting to get used to it.
I don’t understand.
I know. That’s what kills me.
re-cover.
that city is a scar i need restitched.
it’s an argument i need the last word in, angrily stomping through outdoor markets, festivals, and hours on mute end, until i’ve said my final say and am reduced to meandering through parks and shops and restaurants, sweeping up ghostly shadows of perjured footsteps and placing them in a recyclable plastic bag decisively thrown away in a corner...
i constantly write poems that are for the both of you. no two could be more opposite, yet somehow that ache.
that ache is two interstate highways snaking down the map of my body; parallel, but separate. stretching into the pads of my fingertips, rippling as i flex my palms neurons firing
zap.
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lessons in love. →
explicit.
fuck me,
like a writer would.
etch upon my skin,
fables of tender
syllables, and
rigorous punctuation,
mark me commas,
in sentences swelled
of metaphors, and
semi-colons where
the focus is deliberate,
and the outcome paints
sonnets and odes
in that of crevices
on our skins,
pressed together
like bookends.