i can't write about you anymore
because distance broke us up, but because of this distance i have faith i’ll be with you once more in the future. for now and ever i will be the light that guides you home, and you will be the moon pulling the seas to the shores. we could separate, and we have, but this is only for now.
you fell asleep, and your steady, sweet breath met mine for an indefinite amount of minutes. i tried to slip into your dreams but found i couldn’t, so i gave you a tiny kiss on the cheek. you met this gesture with a brief period of silence, which then you broke with a smile, your eyes still closed. i’ve been spending most of my saturday nights with you like so. i’d like to...
i want to believe that everything is right and fine and fine and right, but what is life when everything is right? i find solace in wrong, the fact that i am wrong. wrong is the antithesis to perfect, to correctness, to things that make you feel like you are someone capable. of what? i don’t know. maybe of something. maybe nothing. i am right. i am wrong. and i am all those things in...
how close am i to losing you
so sweet. your words, so sweet, traced into my back: i never deciphered them, but it was the act that made it so emotional. so sweet. you, the person you are, the way i laid next to you. you said i was someone you would want to protect. so sweet. your sweet tooth, diabetic habits, deadly; some needed drugs, you needed sugar. every part of you i could pin to the wall like an arrow to a target,...
i can’t imagine how many looks have passed between us since. every single glance, stare, stolen breath, half-closed gazes and silent phrases…i knew what was going on in your mind but i know you didn’t in mine, because you told me i was hard to read and perhaps that’s a good thing, that you can’t read me, you can’t know me. i can’t be the book you study, i...
your favorite photo of me
your favorite photo of me was a picture of me draped only in your blue dress shirt and simple black underwear, my hair in bun, top of my head pressed to the wall on your dark wooden floors, sitting crossed legged, reading a book. you took this some mornings ago. a lot of mornings ago. all these mornings you would have a cup of black coffee and the morning paper. but not that morning, that morning...
how could you even bear to be with someone like me
i was so unsure of everything the night before, i mean, i couldn’t wrap my head around what i wanted to do, i told you right when i met up with you that i was indecisive and that you should pick. then you had your wine, and it was nice to relax a bit, realize that these nerves are from uncertainty, not hope - understand that i was too young, i still am too young. it’s lovely to see...
it used to be easy writing.
are you awake? are you alone?/because it’s your beside that’s cold with the seasons shaking you, your own words devoid of you/and i hope when i leave you don’t look back/and all the things you say are as sharp as the teeth in your mouth/you can’t sever those ties when you’ve used up all your knives throwing them into someone else’s back/and just because...
glad i didn’t introduce my favorite bands to you, or else they’ll always be ruined for me
when i was fourteen and on a school trip, i was accidentally left behind in japan. i could barely speak the language, it was dark and cold and i had no idea where i was going. i was in a train station in a rural part of the country, and i ran back to the platform hoping to catch a glimpse of someone i knew, anyone; but that was foolish and acted out on account of desperate hope. i ran to the...
but that’s like telling people my scars are accidental tattoos of the person i used to be
hello writers and readers,
i am currently in dire need of writing prompts as i am running extremely low on time to come up with any sort of brilliant thinking/musings/inspiration through reading. i am also looking for someone (or someones) who is willing to read a writing portfolio of mine - when i am done with it, of course - and provide constructive criticism. if you can do one or both of the above, please throw a...
before everything happened, before i found out the kind of person you were, before i thought the choices i made were mistakes i later learnt from…you told me one secret of yours when i had laid all of mine out to you, quickly and easily as if you were a confidante i’ve trusted for years when i had only known you for something like a month. you told me you dreaded your birthday each...
the calm before the storm
i was in bed. two AM, i was supposed to be sleeping but the pills didn’t work. the sky was clear, but there were no stars. my eyes were open, and the moonlight cast shadows over everything in my room, each slanting at an angle. then i felt it start to come. i heard the voices starting to wash over me, but no one was around. you are scared, it whispered. you are a figment of your own...
a million seconds of road and a mile worth of...
we were six years old, hiding in a small tent pitched in the back of a worn-out pickup truck with its faded red paint peeling on the sides. sadly, the truck never moved. it stayed put. its wheels were replaced with boxes holding the body of the truck up, underneath your dad’s old oak tree in the front yard. that was our little boost to get up to the top of the tree, where we could camouflage...
i like that you think
i’m alright in the worst sense possible, that i’m okay and i’m fine and any other definition that doesn’t seem to rub off as i’m actually unhappy and upset and all i really need is a swaddle of blankets, a porch, a sunset and a field to make me all better. now that it’s been going on for long enough i’ve grown a little older and maybe a little more jaded,...
“You wanna figure out where the fuck you...
there are demons in your head and you told me you’d listen to them instead. so okay. i let you. but now the demons are you and you’re making me listen to you but i am stronger than you, i am stronger than this, i am stronger than the wisp of the ghost you make me out to be floating through your cold soul.
you want to know
but you don’t want to accept the fact that no matter where you are in the world, time does go on, life does move on, and that not everything is static when you leave. there are worlds that collide and lines that divide, and at the center of everything is you because you are in the middle between airports and time zones and connecting flights. you are not special and nothing stays even when...
hey kid, it's summer again
let your hair and your muscles show through you’ve been sleeping all summer long you miss the blues, greens, and yellows of the nights that seemed so long. you miss the smell of grass, the sweltering heat melting off your skin, the laughter, the drinks, the backyards, pools, parties, drinks beaches sleep fireworks friends friends friends friends friends. that is what you miss. human...
secrets pt 2
funnily enough, the moment after our eyes met and we smiled, embarrassed at our secrets to hide, he pulled me in closer and said, ‘oh, i’m tired.’ i responded in the same way when i met him, lightheartedly: ‘me too, i’ve got work tomorrow morning but here i am.’ and there went his hand, from my shoulder, slowly down my arm to my waist, then to the small of my...
i saw someone i vaguely knew in a part of town i wasn’t supposed to be in with someone i wasn’t supposed to be with tonight. and her, in her hand was something that wasn’t supposed to be there and she was where i was, about to do what i knew she would do. she looked up, i smiled sheepishly, and she, unsure of what to do, whether to smile or to wave, smiled and raised her hand in...
red green blue black
maybe it’s the amount of pills i have to take, but i could swear the door was just breathing like the rising of my chest. i thought i saw the demon but it turned out to be the monster hiding in my head. then i turned and thought i saw the monster’s shadow but it turned out to be my fears accumulating to take advantage of this paralyzed state. now nothing is staying down and i fear my...
the worst part about nicotine aren’t the risks you’re taking in, nor is it the chemicals and the tar. the worst part about it is the smell. long after you’ve gone and smoked your last cancer stick in my vicinity, i can strip myself of my clothes and smell the nicotine - but that’s not what i smell. i smell you and i remember you and you’re in my hair and my clothes...
if fact became fiction
sometimes some people say the most beautiful things that i wish i could replicate or even come close to reproducing. what use would it be, though, if i had said what they had said? perhaps i could have a sliver of their tongue in my words on occasion, but that occasion is frail and worn. i could be anywhere else in the world hoping to become someone i’m not or hoping to be the person i could...
when i was a little girl living on dakota drive, my room had painted green walls. ‘sea cucumber’. i still remember the name of the paint. it was a pale, pale green. and in the summer, the sun, no matter the time of the day, would reflect its rays onto my walls. morning, afternoon, dusk. it was always on one wall or the other. i had a large window in my room. it overlooked my...
now it’s not quiet anymore. i left my makeup on before i decided to fall asleep; i woke up with nothing on my pillow, but mascara streaked below my eyes. i was a soft mess. i wanted nothing more than to close my eyes for perhaps a few more hours - maybe an eternity - but an eternity’s forever, and i don’t know if i could be that patient. it’s not quiet. it’s still...
the smell of earth after rain. now you are the smell before, during and after. you are everywhere and you never leave.
if you weren’t a writer i think you’d be critically acclaimed if you weren’t a friend i could tell you we’re not better off as partners if you weren’t someone i knew i wouldn’t hate you if you weren’t dead then i’d never appreciate you if you weren’t me you’d never understand this damn thing i call solitude
tea time. sitting and eating what i usually do from the cafe below my apartment, it’s a wonder they haven’t memorized my order yet. it’s the same two people who take my order, time after time, and yet they don’t remember my face. i suppose it’s hard when you see hundreds of people in a day; but surely, i go down often enough to buy the same thing, time after time. or...
whiskeymonologues: It’s 3 o’clock and the whiskey is kicking. And fuck if I’m not here sitting, reminiscing. Not for sordid hopes of rekindling. Not praying salvation for memories dwindling. Rather, quietly sitting, listening to the distant sounds of settling. The writing was on the wall for damn near long as I can recall. But there is something so elegant in the fall. It’s sudden motion baby,...
swallow your pride. come on, drink up
for years and years i’ve taken in nothing but words and air and every once in a while, the balloon pops and i deflate. i’m still deflating, i’m still floating, but i’m still being carried by the wind and it drags on and on and on. but all it’s doing right now is dragging me higher when all i want it to do is carry me further away, further away from all of this so i...
i tried to close the door. i tried to close it. maybe something was caught in the frame. i tried again. it wouldn’t close. and it squeaked every damn time it opened again, it pushed itself open without force. the coat sleeve. that was it. the coat hanging on a hook behind the door, its sleeve was caught in the doorframe. that’s why it wouldn’t close. there, i took it out, but it...
Anonymous asked: any chance of reading your older stuff, please?
we all find beauty in something a little older, a...
like the edge of the yellowing letter sent from eighteen twenty three or the dust that settles into the crevices of your bedsheets after a year abroad and the weeping tree that bends with its century age but don’t you find that we get older just never any wiser?
you take the air from my lips
i held my breath when we touched down. i held my breath for those last five seconds of the flight, and when the wheels collided with the cement of the runway, i exhaled. and with it went the agony of being away for so long, the tears and the false hope that fueled me long enough for my return. and when i stepped outside the terminal, i knew where i was, but i felt so hopeless. in my pocket was two...
sitting in the dusk’s dying light, it was nice to know that sometimes, lying down and staring at the sky wasn’t so bad. the edge of the horizon was turning a sheer shade of pink and orange, and the ever darkening blue loomed above my forehead. the best part of it was that there was nothing to obstruct this view, one so gorgeous leaving you to wonder what thing you finally did right to...
sometimes you listen to things that set off a certain emotion in you. likes sounds of my mother screaming at the imperfections that mar us all; how she didn’t know where she went wrong. and sometimes each pluck of a orchestral string will sing its sadness back to you, its infinite sadness, and it lures you in because it’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. those are the times when i want to...
my mind is spinning again.
I want to tell you a story. Not just any story, anyway. It’s not about how boy meets girl and how they fall in love and live happily ever after. Not like that. It is a story about hopes and dreams, a hopeless romantic without a romantic interest, and a city. That’s how it all starts, right? And maybe you can illustrate this in your head as we go along. As I tell you this story, a little movie...
i thought i could be deep; but i never even cut close show you what it’s really like to think that you could think but knowing that none of those thoughts were your own
things we know we should love; but alas, we forget
the autumn air is crisp and sweet. red, orange and yellow - they surround your every move, the leaves fall, the leaves are dead, they are under your feet. there are the pumpkins, the carved ones that litter the porches and front steps of every house, in time to welcome the spirit of halloween; in schoolyards, the remains of a rotten pumpkin, kicked to its death by the feet of mischievous teenagers...
for one second you could pretend to be konstantine
and go to sleep in the living room just to pretend you’re still breathing on the stage and even though you promised you would be there there you are, nowhere to be seen, your spirit’s gone i thought this was what i really wanted but now i’m just not sure
how can people go to sleep sound in their bed at...
and while their families lay their heads in their hands, their loved ones six feet beneath the ground, how can you treat the blood on your hands like red paint and the burden of their soul like a trace of a wedding veil?
you’re not looking for anyone to love you. you’re not even a little sane. you’re not lovesick or heartbroken, but you write all these lines you think are so brilliant when in truth, not one of them relate back to you. to you it’s release. to everyone else it’s a hold. the vice, the grip, that hand that will never let you go. you are a child, you are nothing more. this...
tears and red noses along the edge of your heart a tissue in hand dabbing at the corners of each eye a corpse behind a sliding door and everyone, black in the parlor five hours i wasted eighteen nights she lay tomorrow is final cremation day