February 2012
24 posts
Beach Poem [II]
I’m going to dye my hair turquoise. I’m going to buy a green sweater every time a guy looks at me sideways [I already have fourteen]. I’m going to acquire a boyfriend who looks like Jamie Bell but prettier. I’m going to have a closet full of lingerie I’m going to have so many important things to say I’m going to grow to be sixteen feet tall.
I’m going to wear the same pair of pants every day ...
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happened again.
smelled fish while staring at georgia’s back at putney
heard the first bit of symphony no. 94 by haydn while trying to sleep
smelled fish walking home from my wretched history final
now: smelled eggs while standing in a shallow bit of the ocean with elena
in other news, i finally yawned the way esmé does [mouth closed, nostrils fluttering like wings]. i’ve wanted...
Beach Poem [I]
The water here is the color of blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers, the color that clung to my mouth after history class, after 41 minutes of staring at the doorway and hoping to catch a glimpse of your skinny back.
I saw my daughter’s toes curling like her arched spine. I don’t have a daughter, but if I did I would never make her take a history class. I’ve learned less from them than...
i’m not brave
pomegranate art class
i want to jump off the roof of my school
and not because i want to kill myself, but to kiss the air in the only way i know how and feel its icy lips tearing at my skin like piranhas clamoring for a bite
and the flavor of the air stained with gray river water, mist from leaking cracks in the sky washes away breath rushing from open mouths puckered like lies, slack from lack of caring i’ve...
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the year you were blue
the year you were blue, i was barely 13 and everybody says your teenage years are the best and everybody says that everybody’s lying but i’ve yet to see proof of either and
the year you were blue, i was barely 13 but that shouldn’t stop anyone from going out walking around making friends and the year i was barely 13, you had already decided who you were and queer musician writer...
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“There was a moth caught in the soapdish laminated in lye. Will you still...”
– “Gemini (Birthday Song)” by Why?
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A Poem for Ingrid
“I think everybody’s out there, getting to know each other,” you said chewing on cheese and crackers like it’s that easy
“Okay,” I sort of exhaled sounding high-pitched and nervous
You looked up for the first time and I wonder what you saw cause I’d felt kind of pretty that morning in a striped T-shirt but shorts made my legs look like fins, or something...
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haven’t had my period in like six weeks and i swear to god if i get it while i’m at the beach next week i will slaughter 100 cute little animals and throw them out to sea
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for dana [IV] or, Gemini
under a cut, not because it’s long, but because it’s weird.
I knew a Gemini once. Something wrong in his veins was killing him from the day he was born, June 12th. Twin brother whose name started with J, Jacob, maybe, or Jonathan, spelled Jonathon? Spelled Jon, spelled John, spelled Johnny, spelled Jim, Jimmy, Josh, Joey, Jared, Jake, Jeremy, Jsomething. Jem? Gemini named Jem.
...
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blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms
only thing that blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms are roses in ceramic pots cracked at the bottom where they slipped through our butter-greasy fingers which aren’t clasped anymore like the back strap on my new swimsuit covered in flowers, flowers are the only things that bloom and bloom and bloom and bloom except for blue eyes in russia, we’ve never been to st. petersburg but i...
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I'm Sorry
The truth, though, is that the last time I held a bunch of roses I threw them in the trash, and most of my bruises are from volleyball, and I really don’t know where the scratches on my body are coming from, and I don’t know what Russia looks like, and I’ve never slept on my fire escape or kissed a nurse, and I don’t know shit about angels, and I sweat even more than I cry,...
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Pretty Words (Nothing)
I’ve been thinking lately. I don’t have anything (important) to say. At least I don’t think so. And if everything’s the same (before and after a poem) then there’s no point, is there? There’s no point if nothing changes. (Did I change you yet?) There’s no point in writing it all down if the memory feels like nothing, (everything feels like nothing), and the worst thing you can do is fit...
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rippedfishnets:
somebody wanna send me something inspiring? song, poem, quote, picture, whatever writer’s block is a bastard..
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an explanation
an explanation of this, because it makes no fucking sense.
oh god if you read this you must really love me. here we go.
title: this; or, this
“we played it on the moon in 1969” my music teacher said this once in class, about some song that i now can’t remember the name of.
“he has laura’s voice” the movie brick features nora zehetner as laura dannon, and she...
Last time I'll say it
i have a thing for fish eyes and i don’t know what that means either, it’s just the first thing i thought when i looked across the classroom and saw this Boy [capital B]
eye contact sucks but he wasn’t looking at me, so i could still breathe and then he turned and the words almost split from my lips
the Boy with the weak chin and the frayed brown hair and the neck that makes...
Dear girl on the subway,
dearmeat:
Sorry about shouldering you out of my way when I got on the train. I was the guy in the pinstripe suit on Downtown Crossing. When you’re in a rush you tend to forget your manners. Well, that’s the bullshit I tell myself so I don’t have to deal with people in public. Not that I was in much shape to be dealing with people. I had a glass (two bottles) of chardonnay to get myself to sleep...
Charlie
When I broke my right leg climbing trees, I stayed in the hospital for a week. A nurse named Charlie took care of me. My leg would scream in pain and he would soothe it, touching me with fingers as delicate as bird wings. If it stopped hurting enough so I could sleep, I dreamed of climbing trees with Charlie, holding hands as the wind blew through. He only ever touched my right leg, where the bone...
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A Poem About Getting Off
The edges of my thighs still feel like razors from clenching the shower head too tight and it’s true I was thinking about you when I came But I was also thinking about pornstars and being tied up and the girl who may or may not be the love of my life Her name is Sherry, by the way, and her hands felt nothing like yours as they gripped my hips and I fought my way through infinity.
What the fuck's an angel?
I am of the deep-seated belief that HUMANS are really angels whose wings have been cut off for daring to have human appetites, you know in terms of food and sex and art, and hatred for others who like food and sex and art.
I am of the deep-seated belief that HUMANS are really quite proud of their bare shoulder blades, the skin puckered where abstinence was forgotten
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i got honorable mention at my school’s “writing on the wall” thing, which is where you submit writing and they stick it on the wall so my writing will not be stuck onto walls but it has been stuck onto a website i’m happy!
my uncle just arrived so i went to give him a hug and accidentally knocked over his pizza
then i burst into tears
there is something emotionally wrong with me
Things that make me cry
people who live in states that end in “A”
people who say “dude”
television
houseboats
people who go to concerts
Malcolm in the Middle
slam poetry
Rome
Paris
people who were born in Ohio, moved to China, and now live in Queens and have an hour-and-ten-minute commute to school
everyone and everything else
January 2012
54 posts
promise
i still think you have pretty lips, perfect ones, promise, they’re shaped like cupid’s bows mountains and valleys waves on a lake roses and i don’t know why nobody wants to kiss them trust me, nobody is kissing mine either, we have that in common but the cuts moved from my arms to my hips and promise, i never told anyone about yours so i guess they still line your wrists like...
Reblog if you have in any way been emotionally...
Q&A
there are so many different colors of pathetic like the pasty skin of the man who spends all his time inside reading about the world on his computer, fetching water for his daughter, so much money sitting in a bank account, could pay a kid’s college tuition could travel india with his wife for weeks on end no, just sits there smelling ancient and wrong. pathetic is the fourteen-year-old-girl...
Hey Hey, She's So Lovely
Rodney M. learned how to tie her shoes, cut off her hair, and French kiss, all in the same year. Once shoes were out of the way, strands of hair were no big deal––just very skinny laces attached to her head and curled like ribbon on a birthday present. Scissors crackled in soggy air. Her hair fell like rain. It soaked her toes to the bone and under the nail bed, and it was so cold. But the tongue...
Emily
the first time Emily ever wanted, it was a creamy white shirt covered in butterflies. her eyes slid down and next, she wanted a pair of jeans so tight they wouldn’t wrinkle. words felt flat on her tongue, covered in some foreign language, stained bright pink, over-salted. yes, the second time she ever wanted. Emily left home that year, said she couldn’t bear it anymore said her...
somebody wanna send me something inspiring? song, poem, quote, picture, whatever writer’s block is a bastard..
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things i need to read/watch/otherwise consume
autobiography of red by anne carson
skins, series 5
misfits
sherlock
doctor who
homestuck
SO MUCH FANFICTION
dana will have a field day if she reads this
long so it’s under a cut. inspired by passages from extremely loud and incredibly close by jonathan safran foer.
I couldn’t tell her that I haven’t had a drink in months, that I smoke because the burning end of the cigarette is the only thing that keeps me from burning holes in my skin, it burns my throat going down but you can’t see the scar it leaves, I didn’t say that I would trade...
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Sexual History: 6 six word stories
But acne just means you’re human.
Jeans and a smile like death.
There’s no reason you can’t laugh.
Dance? Okay, but not with you.
I want everything. I hate me.
Holding hands is better than suicide.
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he talked to me. also, he has an odd sexuality.
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Love Poem 138
you’re so pretty when you talk about how you hate yourself, and i don’t know if that’s ‘cause you look like me or you don’t. i had to take a walk, got sick of thinking about you with my legs wrenched shut and you’re a Boy with a capital b and i’m sorry if that makes me shallow. i didn’t know your last name until two weeks ago but it doesn’t...
The ninth circle of hell is the phrase, "Girls...
wtfniceguys:
frass:
diaryofacuntfacedbitch:
I have been called an extremist before. Which usually serves as a laugh, because obviously someone who calls a seventeen year old blogger an extremist has no concept of suicide bombings, occults, or genocide. But truthfully, there are times when I feel like devising a plot to kill off the entirety of the human race. This is one of them.
Welcome to...
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“Red knights, white knights, marching into the fight. Drink me, shrink me, fill...”
– “Her name is Alice” by Shinedown
Credo [II]
I believe that my brother would make the best fucking soldier the military has ever seen. I also believe that my brother is going to die young, because nothing bad has ever happened to him. I believe that my brother is a good liar, but he doesn’t have much to lie about. I believe that my brother is stronger than me. I believe that my brother is going to invite me over for the holidays when...
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to do for: the near future
start kurt vonnegut book
eat a proper meal at a reasonable time
study for bio final, history final, music app final, geometry final…
get my father into a good mood
do homework at poet’s house
watch a film
mail package to ella
figure out what to do with my life
finish cake
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The Thought and her thoughts
I have trouble eating, the Thought told her therapist. Everything tastes stale, and sweaty. It’s like all the nervous people in the world rubbed my food with their palms.
Listen, said the therapist. I want you to go home and drink a glass of orange juice. Then, lie in bed and try not to think about anything for a while. I guarantee that within 42 days you’ll be able to eat properly again.
The...
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When she lived in Japan,
she cheated on her boyfriend with an Australian man. His name was Barry. He loved to smoke and talk about politics. He was dating someone else too, a sculptor, whose white hands were like marble.
She was not a sculptor. Instead, she pulled long skirts of her not-fat hips. Years later she would hate them, but noncommittally, and only in private.
You’re so sexy, Barry would whisper while grazing...
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Soda
Sarah pours a glass of club soda and dyes it pink with food coloring before stepping into a fragrant bath. The bubbles froth around her like comforting hands. Her legs slick with soap, with worry, she scrubs herself clean until her skin is as pink as the soda. Outside, the sun sinks into the line of the river and construction workers sing their tools to sleep. She climbs out of the window to...
That Transsexual Guy: "A Very Transsexual... →
inkstainedqueer:
Oliver’s Awkward Holigay Adventures.