May 2013
8 posts
7 tags
Anonymous asked: I think a lot of people, myself included, love to hate you. You write great stuff, but don't necessarily participate in the writing community or support other people. This makes me which makes me not want to like your stuff and hate when I do. I think you frustrate people by saying that you don't give a fuck what other people think about your blog whilst incessantly reblogging your...
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I comb dolphins out my hair, cough out peonies and sit in the nook of the moon, catching comets and planting their seeds so they can grow back up up up to the moon. I create tempests, swell the oceans and they are moved to applause. I have primrose fingers and a fountain pen that blossoms, a springtime secret garden spilled over the page; an entirely purple creation. Lavender legs, I have lavender...
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Depreciate
My spine was the most unappreciated part of me. You had never seen it in its bare nakedness, satiny skin stretched tight over a sensuous serpent of bone, but now, while the moon squirmed in the sky like a bug struggling feebly in a puddle of ink, you could reach across the cushioned expanse of the mattress and touch it. You brushed my unclothed spine with your fingertips, examining each curve,...
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April 2013
26 posts
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Essence
I spent my time memorizing your essence. The texture of your skin as my fingertips danced upon it, the warmth of your mouth as you kissed me goodnight. Everything started and ended with you, you had become routine. Now my hands search for you in the midst of the night grasping sheets until I grasp reality.
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Fast Food & Road Trips to California
I have my fears and they hold me close as if I am their daughter. The sun rises and I feel the love you planted in my heart dying, withering away like an ocean shore, high tide. I rise above the Nevada heat and I become your favorite song — something you can hear of a thousand times but never touch. I become something intangible, something far away, something unreal. I hope you write to me...
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Making Love
I write poems like I make love. Slow to start, kissing along the lips and neck of my feelings, warming them up. My heart begins to ache as I slide my hands along the body of my emotions and as irrational as they may be, they respond by pulling on my heart strings — pulling away my boundaries. Soon we are naked and hurting, my heart is bleeding and hot, tears spill over my eyelids. Into the...
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Apple Seeds
The first time that he found me he asked me why I was just lying there in the grass. The second time he joined me and told me that in his dreams he could swim underwater for hours without having to break the surface, he could just sit on the bottom of the ocean and watch bubbles pass his lips and float away. Then he said that he would wake up or drown or something like that. And I didn’t...
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blood in my hair
Some nights I drive all the way home and then cannot remember how it was I got there or how many people I left behind; some nights I feel like I could run every red light and never think of going back.
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Places I Can Jump From (And Not Feel A Thing)
It was three in the afternoon and I was with a boy in his father’s bed looking out the window, watching the snowstorm, wanting to die. I wished that I were drunk because if I were drunk I would not feel so low, so dirt in the bottoms of my shoes, so much like closing myself to him, like curling into a ball and covering every inch of myself in water. I could jump off of the George Washington...
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Refreshed
Unwrap my ribs. Impatiently, like a present you’ve been waiting for since November. Smooth out the ripples along my forehead, swallow the lines from my palms. Write sonnets to constellations along my bruised calves, and soil my upraised mouth with fresh words that don’t belong to me. Outline characters inside my elbows and paint their faces down my stomach. Take a microscope to the...
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I Need You to Know
I need you to know that this usually brilliant city has been a deep shade of grey since you left. You thought I wouldn’t notice if you stole the light from my eyes into your suitcase when you took flight, but it’s gotten so murky that I can’t seem to find my way. I’m tripping over words and knocking into injured bones in an effort to find a light switch, but I’m...
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Do you even fucking check my blog before you...
Just to clear things up: I’m not a writing blog. I’m not a GIFs blog. I’m not a hipster blog. I’m not a pale/pastel blog. I’m not a fashion blog. I’m not an art blog. I’m not a film blog. I’m not a vintage blog. Because fuck labels. I’m just a human being with a blog and I post whatever I like on it. Everything I post on here is original. I...
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Autobiography of a Star
I was born in a brutal nursery of kaleidoscope clouds and burning storms, born alone with static fizzling on my tongue. For a long time I slept in a hummock of stars, waiting for the clock to start ticking, waiting for the curtains to open up and the show to start. Now I spend my evenings curled up in high-rise window sills, writing love letters to the moon. At midnight the universe blazes into...
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The Golden Flower
I found my way into the land of milk and honey, and soon learned the horrors of heaven. I have lived in liquid gold, and fallen into the darkest nebulae. I have died everyday for a year; the fate of swallowing the blood seed, and loving the false wolf. Dreams of wanderlust boil my blood, and I have awakened to a new world. There is magick bubbling up everywhere.
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Blur
When you will be sixty years old you might have grandchildren and you might tell them about me in the nicest way you can. You might say, “She was like looking through glasses that you don’t need or like blurry pictures or fog sleeping on top of the ocean.” Or you could say, “I hated that bitch.” Because you know there was always something other than love in the room...
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Left-Handed
Grandma used to ask everyone she knew if they were left-handed and if they said yes, she’d get a dark look in her eyes like the ocean when it rains and she’d say, “We’re living in a right-handed world and there’s not one thing we can do about it.” Then she’d laugh and it’d be filled with rainy oceans instead of with things that laughs are supposed to...
March 2013
30 posts
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For a while I thought I was pregnant. I imagined a little wonder-child swelling up inside of me, wrapped in my internal fluids and throbbing next to my ribcage. Its easily bruised soul would somehow squeeze my insides deep up the canal of my esophagus and around the hinges of my back while my skin would spread itself against its encasing. I’d go home and touch my flat tummy and warm my hands...
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Tasseography
You soil my organs like the darkest of tea poured over and out into bone-white china cups. I feel the heaviness of your aftertaste in every instant of loneliness scraped from breaks made into unsettled messes by your memory. You plague me like a mad man’s symphony, like a glowing eulogy composed and dedicated to the remainder of us. Porcelain dolls with faces as faded as your passion and as...
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I Can't Sleep Without You
There is a thick stillness in the night, the sweat sliding from the window like spiders along flowing spun silk. In bed, under sheets the navy blue of wild oceans, your back along my chest, my breasts form moon prints on your shoulder blades, the freckle lines of cars pulling out and heading south. Your skin is a flat interstate for nighttime travels, the muted dusk sound of engines lets me fall...
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La Petite Mort
I’ve tried to find that place in the coastal-plains forest where he took it, that first time when I trembled in the cloying summer air and couldn’t meet his eyes, but it was always secret and now it has vanished down the twists and turns of narrow roads. I only remember scratching bites for days and days, little peach-blow reminders of what I’d lost in the pine straw. Later, it was never snarling...
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French Vanilla
Like your tongue forming over the word clove, like bread rising (with brown sugar like freckles placed upon the crust), like the artfully melted aromas of cinnamon and mint, and the texture of yogurt, like a Grecian villa on the harbor and in the spring, like limerence, like the first bird song and the early bloom of the infant year, like sweet butter, or the realization that you no longer need...
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Custard Creams
We used to fight over the custard creams. Not over who consumed them, but about the art of tea dunking. He would always criticize my dunking technique and I’d retaliate. I personally thought the best way to dunk a custard cream was to eat the first half, remove the cream and then only dunk the second half; I’ve always done it this way. He on the other hand treated the custard cream...
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He wants to unfold my heart and look inside it, stretch his fingers across the pulsing veins and really feel me, understand me. And I fear his palms, his fingers and the way he looks at me as if I were a raw silvery salmon he had just caught, as if I had pink fish meat that he could slip into his carnivorous mouth. As if he could keep me in the fish bowl of his belly, my tiny heart...
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Summer
I want you to come in the summer. Leaves a vivid green across heartbreak-cerulean sky, and feet bare brown against scorching pavement. It would be nice; me in short-shorts and bikini tops, you with sun tan shoulders and that summer-boy scent. We could do anything. There’s a shaved ice place in downtown; we could run there barefoot and holding hands, smiling like it had been too many years...
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With her eyes on the ethereal sky, she spies two elephant clouds, the smaller one holding on to the fluffy plump one’s massive tail, and she prays to be able to float like they can, to break away. As if she were a balloon, held back from other universes, tied to a string. As if with one stubborn tug she could lift up into the air; tuck herself between a handful of clouds and ...
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Mermaids
Sometimes the mermaids will watch the sailorboys, and aquamarine eyes will take in the strong shoulders and the intuitive sense of balance, and sometimes one will fall in love. And sometimes this love will swell up her chest so much it aches, and sometimes it will make her careless — make her swim soundlessly up to the sides of the boats and reach up (softly, with just the barest sound of...
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