cherry blossoms still tightly bound to the bough a fleeting moment in a briefly beautiful lifespan when i was young my yard had the biggest tree in the neighborhood and the petals would flutter around my feet and settle upon my shadow i bound out of the front door to join a wiffle ball game with the older greek boy across the street his olive arms threw plastic that whizzed past my chest almost as fast as the expletives that sprinted from his mouth when i hit home runs because the ball sailed clear over the telephone pole pretending to run around the diamond of coke cans and dip stick wrappers i slow down my movements and hike up my jean shorts aware but not at 12 i am a cherry blossom so tightly bound and fuck is still just a word i hear from chris when i do well
should i be posting unfiltered barely prose more like journal entry accounts of my thoughts and possible desires to an easily accesible and searchable blogging platform?
yeah,…. probs not
hah
wow guys please do this it seems really interesting
PLEASEEEEE!
do it while i am hopped up on t3’s and crazy
(Source: r4tionality)
a tribute, i guess though if you knew about that i’m sure you would hate it because of some principle you have lived by formed by your professor parent ideals my mind was a cavern dark and dreary consumed by the faults found deep in the fissures once you let slip you do have sentimentalities a corduroy tie for the keeping and i want to be like that tie textured with a little bit of weight behind it a 1970s color that was nice at the time but now hard to forget because you pried and held open the mouth of the river that once only flowed down stream silver all the while echoing off of your (ear)ring because of you i guess i have to believe in fate and that the clipping of my strings by forward thinking old women would eventually reattach myself to new yarn thanks are in order this week only confirmed it the atmosphere you fostered has led me to a path of bright blue skies and green rolling hills thank you thank you thank you
amplified personas dragging my insides kicking and screaming and then leaving them kicking and screaming as more and more time passes over a year a whole 16 months not one not one and as each day passes my awareness heightens and tonight good fucking lord boys boys with your mouths uttering the most tangible baritones maybe if you all didn’t pack left my eyes wouldn’t have noticed or drifted or wondered or imagined
to me, the act of forgiveness is endless water pouring from a pitcher over a wound that salt has found a home in. no one has hands to help dig out the hurt, but slow. slow and ever so steady the water sweeps the hardwood and drags out the grievances onto the porch and lets the wind pick up my pink saline crystals from the pile my soul so dreadfully accumulated
i have a tell: inordinately huge pupils, disproportionate to the light. my mama knows just by a look, when she catches me walking up the stairs while she’s on her way to the bathroom in the hall. she shoots a glance my way and shakes her head and she knows. and subtle as my pupils may be, my limbs and words are not. both flail and fail to contort to my demands, namely stop. go. be pleasant. be there. it’s a funny thing, because while truth seeps from clear libation laden cups, maybe truth isn’t quite the right word i’m looking for. animal impulses. because really, let’s face it. the only thing i think about while shit faced is who wants to fuck me in this room and where can i get a goddamn piece of bread. both trains of thought are necessities for reproduction. and i’m okay with letting the primal take over, for the time being. but the truth is numbing the tedium of the day like smoothing plaster over a sculpture makes the bad seem fine and the fine seem grand and healthy turnover of emotion is not what i’m describing. that right-now, get-it-out immediacy could never be dampened with anything less than a 40% alcohol content
tattoos as a reminder and a lesson steps taking with my left thigh forward branded in future tense and past it didn’t ruin me it just made me more interesting and when you take away the safe space all i am is a mish mosh of incurable symptoms and even more ugly side effects so the pain the physical ache of blood pumping through veins that deliver to muscles that cause chemical and allergic reactions you two were my friends you two were someone i felt safe enough to divulge and see past tense already it hurts more that my perceptions have changed than my stupid fucking eye and with every blink it’s a reminder to keep my mouth fucking shut even though pain sears through consciousness keep my mouth shout because my complaints strip me of being interesting because my complaints (and cries for help) need to be kept close to my chest because it’s not worth the salt that burns your swollen lymph when it gets thrown back in your face
joking, joking
no matter what anyone says joking is worse than hearing it straight
complain
when you try so hard not be your flaws and showing them to people you trust most and they take it as complaints
i just
sitting in school bathrooms with your head leaning against the toilet paper dispensers trying not to lose it because people you respect see you as the girl who complains about her [insert sickness here]
my redeeming factor was i used the word eschewed once
what the fuck makes me worthy after that
i have always had a personal problem with the word complain — i hated when doctors and nurses and the er use complain, because i’m not bemoaning i’m not i’m not they’re legitimate issues and i’m not complaining just telling you what is wrong and to have the two people responsible for giving me any sort of purpose in life again tell me i complain a lot about what’s wrong with me holy shit i need peace in the valley safe spaces where i could let those insecurities dwell served back in a joke that’s not a joke i love you two but you broke me tonight
that’s really what it comes down to, i guess
blinded by the light
drunk i tip into bed my vision spinning as fast as the earth spins around the sun as fast as the sun slips behind the horizon and though we leave when our trails are prettiest we will rise again stone chilled in the morning
Just really fucking weird. #sandy
funny how the right environment can create entities you didn’t know existed. sitting at a small table after a few drinks is boring until you get up at the first sign of an open dart game. you fuck around with your best friend who consistently gets a bulls-eye with no practice (what the fuck, yeah) and you get close to fucking someone double your age who has a good demeanor but who’s kid needs breakfast and a signature on a test to get full credit the next day and that grey stubble can’t make up for the embarrassment later on. anyway, the guy i have been eyeing up the whole night comes to our group late and drops the beauty bomb of birthdays and that his is exploding with air show brilliance today. coool. cool. kisses on the cheek, but wanting to do so much more. shit. bars to meet, but bars to retreat. i kiss him, take another shot from another man, and it’s okay. permutations of a night but a singlar outcome of me. me. me. me.
always me.
i am an extremely fannish person and after 3 years of just posting poetry, the confluence of teen wolf and fall out boy is too much for my heart to contain. i’m also into sherlock, doctor who, lord of the rings, harry potter, etc etc. i put my thumb in all the pies. so if that’s your thing, go and follow! i will also start unfollowing people here to create a more streamlined tumblr writers community dash, and refollowing all my fannish tumblrs on orthognathy, just as a heads up.
orthognathy for the curious:straight-jawed; having the profile of the face vertical or nearly so.
