Up to date
with crossing out
To-Do List: January 201504-01-2015 She wakes up to hear the rain
04-01-2015 A hand full of lube
07-01-2015 Missing leather
09-01-2015 Two words are better than three
09-01-2015 The things we do for flapjacks
13-01-2015 The sudden absence of rain
15-01-2015 She sees the world through uv filters
18-01-2015 Breathe through your emotions
18-01-2015 Always crying on trains.
21-01-2015 Jenny. Her name is Jenny.
22-01-2015 So many pretty girls that she's never going to be.
28-01-2015 Bed sheet imprints
To-Do List: December 201408-12-2014 He leaves no smell in her bed
08-12-2014 With little to no resistance
08-12-2014 She doesn’t lose him because he is not hers
08-12-2014 The words and the truth are different
10-12-2014 Blood and skulls and pastel rainbows
11-12-2014 My love for classical music will never die.
14-12-2014 God i have so much to say, i wish i had less to day.
16-12-2014 Vagina enemas
16-12-2014 Going to sleep sticky
18-12-2014 Sometimes ‘i miss you’ means ‘some part of me still loves you’ and it fucking sucks.
18-12-2014 Oh god these feelings.
18-12-2014 Still fucking madly in love with the U S of you
18-12-2014 The softest saggiest balls
18-12-2014 Writing notes in quick succession. You still have that power.
18-12-2014 I want to go to a photography exhibition and fall in love with peoples faces until my heart aches.
18-12-2014 Thank god for oceans
22-12-2014 Silly little love grins
22-12-2014 Two doors open on door closed
25-12-2014 Burning incense to be reminded
To-Do List: November 201405-11-2014 She can make you hard just by not looking at you
07-11-2014 Glitter, flour and tears
07-11-2014 A 50s housewife and a pet
09-11-2014 Sitting next to myself in thirty years
10-11-2014 Crying for Beak
10-11-2014 Johnnie walker red and coffee
10-11-2014 Nerdy boys
10-11-2014 Hip hops and floodies
11-11-2014 Poly bi sissy boi slave girl pet thing
11-11-2014 How many labels is too many labels?!
11-11-2014 Happy to be a familiar
13-11-2014 Tuna sandwich
14-11-2014 Butter menthol girl
19-11-2014 Midnight chores
23-11-2014 What did moths used to flock to before man existed?
To-Do List: October 201402-10-2014 Paint splattered boots
04-10-2014 Babies, dogs and street art
05-10-2014 Paint and beers
05-10-2014 And just like that, I lost an hour
08-10-2014 Water girl
13-10-2014 Pretty little rope marks
13-10-2014 All these broken men
13-10-2014 I always feel like I am entering the relationship with someone, they are never doing it back to me.
13-10-2014 He growls like you did.
13-10-2014 Pavlov was wrong
16-10-2014 Winking at children
19-10-2014 Dust bunnies are honourable
19-10-2014 Also works great on butts
19-10-2014 She keeps her toolkit with her make up
24-10-2014 Pineapple and minestrone soup
24-10-2014 One step behind and to the right
26-10-2014 You have to stretch to get anywhere in life
26-10-2014 Putting clothes on just to take them off again
29-10-2014 Blubes and strawbs
29-10-2014 Getting stoned and eating chicken kievs
five things they don't teach you in highschool1.
it's okay to fall in love.
i mean, they tell you you're never going
to marry your high school sweetheart and i'm not going
to tell you it's a lie
because it's not. you guys will probably
break up and is gonna hurt like hell
but you'll be okay. remember, you are not the only one
who has felt loneliness like a knife,
the only one to know the pain of lungs collapsing
because they were your air,
and you will never be the only one who whispered
"i love you" two lives too soon.
you wil not be the last one to have tucked
hair behind their ear and leaned in for a kiss
or the last one to wake up reaching for a hand that's no longer there.
but it's okay.
your favorite book will not always be your favorite.
like you, it will change over time
to something unrecognizable
that gives you only a vague nostalgia in the tips of your fingers.
flipping through the pages will never
feel the same again.
you will learn to love something new;
your next favorite will teach you something about your
Insanity needs companyand now I’m stuck here,
how the walls became
a veiny sight-
(could the cause be me calling out
in the middle of the night?)
and alone I stand here,
how my feet got
nailed upon this floor-
(do you hold my ankles
like an anchor
does the shore?)
and I know it’s been thirteen years
since you were here at all,
according to the hash marks
drawn in chalk
upon the wall,
but I can’t
of our memories,
so for now,
I’ll let the doc declare:
Insanity needs company.
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Rhyming in PoemsWhy do you all want to rhyme
all the time?
You don't need to do it,
that's perfectly fine.
You think it's so cool
And it leaves poems gleaming,
But it desecrates flow
And can ruin the meaning.
It's so bad to rhythm,
It's like a bad day
You wonder why you're not
Sleeping it away.
You think it's the root
Of your writing's salvation,
But we all will hate you,
All parts of the nation.
You think it sounds nice
But you don't even know
How ruined the sound is
How badly it 'goes'.
So the irony's over,
Your poems can mend,
I'll stop myself here,
Before you meet
Brown Eyes Compliments, and AnalogiesBecause I'm sick of people saying there aren't any.
Your brown eyes are like the deep intoxication of campaign wine, bubbling with hazing richness and expensive taste.
Your brown eyes are like the color of mahogany wood- comforting and home-steady toughness that lets me know you will be the beams of supporting me.
Your eyes remind me of Dove chocolate, smooth, creamy, delectable, and melting.
The color of brown eyes remind me of mountain terrain and nature, something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.
Brown eyes make me think of Devil's cake, taunting and tempting, curtained by black lashes, the symbol of rich seduction.
When brown eyes delve in love, they become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life, and devotion.
Your brown eyes remind me of mysterious secrets, dark to cover the pain of ignorance, opaque to cover to want of another.
Brown eyes are like the stable ground, steadier and prepared to embrace you when you fall, into a nurturing a
You. Got. This.I see these people all over the place –
Depressed, anxious, confused, confounded even –
And I see them, all uncertain, not knowing what will happen next
I see them trying to be brave or just accepting the fear
I see them breaking and then pretending not to be broken
I see them, and I have only three words:
First word: You
Second person pronoun, indicating the person to whom I am speaking
It’s every person, just as it is specific to the one, making no discernment between the two
Second word: Got
A word indicating possession, ownership, belonging
Also a word indicating inevitability;
In this case You must own, You must possess, You must belong,
And third word: This
A word indicating that of which we are speaking,
In this case all those things you think you are going to fail at,
Or that you want to try but don’t think you can succeed in,
Or all the things you wish you could have but don’t believe you’ll ever own
In this case, You must possess all your d
Heroin AddictionRemember the days
when I would come running to you,
and shaking body,
and you would wrap me
in your strong arms
and whisper promises of tomorrow
that might never happen?
I would come to you
a broken mess
and you would fix me.
What happened to those days?
Now I'm too broken
and every hug ends in gore
from the fragments of my soul
puncturing your pale, delicate skin
and I'm choking on the words
you tried shoving down
my raw, bleeding throat.
The sad part is
it's so easy to
indulge in the wicked comfort of
this toxic relationship.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
InsomniaTell me the name is for a goddess,
capricious and deadly, who
mocks the afflicted in their dreams.
I might endure more graciously
if only this were a dream. It is
she who tosses fireballs of light
pulsating, flashing bright
and going dim in the blackness
behind these herniated eyes,
to devour while I hear the sustained
pitch of a sonic scream through
the static frequency of night air,
the peel and cry of her harpies
smelling of singed hair and brains;
the fever and sound rips through veins,
cauterizing shut the window for sleep,
leaving the frantic staccato of a
heart in flight, as I whisper
Goddess, why spare me the night.