Tracy Chapman | ‘Fast Car’
awarewolves: I lift the tiny cigarette, a few inches away from its imminent disappearance, and let it kiss my lips. I hate its taste, but have always loved the way how its tip sparkles beneath my eyes, like jewelry on fire. The wind carries the burning pieces of ashes to my exposed skin. It stings. My lungs feel heavy, and now heavier, because they seem to be the ones carrying my burdened...
theremiss: I wish I could take back all the steps wasted by this (indecisive) heart, pacing at your door, trailing ashes and regrets. I wish I could take back all the steps, all the...
writeinspace: Grief is overwhelming, wave-like, liquid and lugubrious. It drowns, sweeps away within a wake of wakefulness, the insomnia of the floundering. Grief turns water to wine, makes one drunk on heady mourning, addled by the scent of sadness. Yes, water to wine. A wine to inhibit the boundaries of propriety, to eliminate the strict separation of emotion and presentation. Wine to blood,...
writeinspace: If you’re coming back, just give me a sign. Tell the moon to stop singing such sad lullabies. Get the flowers to bloom with your smell in mind Have the skies all clear-up, so the sun can come shine. If you’re going to return then we’ll need a parade; A beautiful setting for your presence that day. Have all of the roads clear and all crashes delayed. Preheat my oven, have some...
Your body is a canvas, let my lips be the paint.
august-is-over: Some days I just want to break down and cry, I don’t know why, I just become overcome by sadness, I don’t even know what I’m upset about, I just feel distant and alone, and really all I want to do is cry. But even then, I can’t do that, I’ve always had dry eyes, and that makes me feel even worse, because I can’t do the simplest thing, I can’t even cry. Some days I just want to...
a picket fence and a porch
theremiss: forward backward forward lulling me into senile dreams of warm cups of tea and artificial sweetener the imprint of my fingers worn into your skin backward forward
clavicola: A blank page for another poem that I’ll spit between my teeth like acid rain. I don’t write. I just burn holes into everything I touch.
Josh Verdes | ‘Save Me’
Katharine McPhee | ‘Touch Me’
The Nine Types of Intelligence
psychology-terms: 1. Naturalist Intelligence (“Nature Smart”) Designates the human ability to discriminate among living things (plants, animals) as well as sensitivity to other features of the natural world (clouds, rock configurations). This ability was clearly of value in our evolutionary past as hunters, gatherers, and farmers; it continues to be central in such roles as botanist or chef. ...
STORY OF MY LIFE.
Tumblr: Here, have some kittens...
Tumblr: Delicious food? There.
Tumblr: I bring you some beautiful, insipiring art...
Parents/Roommate: *walks into the room*
Tumblr: YOU SAID PORN?
Tumblr: DID I HEAR DICKS?
Tumblr: WHAT WAS THAT DID YOU MENTION HARDCORE GAY SEX?
Computer: HERE LET ME FREEZE
Computer: NOPE, NO SWITCHING TABS
august-is-over: I don’t understand why we try to escape our past so much, what’s done is done right? I know that sometimes it can be hard and extremely difficult to walk tall when the past weighs heavily upon our shoulders. But the past, the past is our stories, it makes you who you are, it tells our stories and without it we are not the people we are, and who we will eventually become, those...
awarewolves: Is it so wrong to finally miss you? Here, we write our stories as if we’ve already forgotten them. But we have, and these words are mere consolation to occurrences. Nothing sticks and nothing remains. Everything we remember is everything we like to imagine. Yesterday was a day plagued with the harshness of heat, and all I thought about was cold tea and an umbrella on my right hand....
writeinspace: In the late afternoon I cried. Sitting against the wall on the far side of my room I let loose. I felt the weight of my heart drop into my stomach and its splash sent waves of emotions up through my body and out of my eyes. The tears were like shell casings, releasing from the chamber and falling almost all at once until the magazine emptied. I stood up, and for a moment felt...
amberafternoons: They do not linger in your memory like ghosts nor in the past like skeletons. They do not exist as shards of glass simply and curiously embedded in your mind. No, they are like trees, taking root into the unconscious. You take her in your arms and she takes you into hers. The toxic scent of her skin and the faint fragrance of her hair fills you, sweeping into your lungs and...
I remember how I love to spend my summer nights – lights out, under the sheets, watching pink films, laughing and crying with real stories of men and women on how they find their true love and happy endings in the persona of the same sex. I always dream of finding that someone. Someone who could really knocks me off my feet, and makes me fall in-love head-over-heels. Perhaps, meeting a random...
Moonpools & Caterpillars | ‘Soon’
amberafternoons: The bridge did not burn. It simply vanished, leaving me standing at the edge of my world staring at the hazy shadow of yours. All that’s left is an emptiness filled with fog and vague memories, figments and fragments. The bridge did not burn. It simply vanished. I trace your name into the ground. This was where I first saw you smile, where I first heard you laughter, and where...
theimperfectgal: Sometimes I feel like such a terrible person. Because I don’t want anyone else to lay claim on you. Like… I’m the only one who has that right. And I don’t. And I never ever should feel that way because for one, you’re a person, not a thing, not something that can easily be claimed as mine. And second, before we even met, you were owned by some other people — you are your...
Three inches. Just few more, and our skin is almost touching – warm and silky, against mine. Three inches. A few more, and your world will meet mine – like yin and yang. Three inches. Few more, and I will start a conversation – your name and number maybe. I wished I had enough courage to take, three more inches of space.
Regina Spektor | ‘Fidelity’
I don’t understand why you find me attractive. You’re, well, you’re you … and...
I let you use my chest as a pillow, as a shield...
Here we are again. Untrusting, unforgiving - we’re back to square one.
vpg: Even though it did not seem like I felt anything, it meant the world to me. These little things you do that make me hate you, and the even littler things you do that make me love you more, they keep me in motion and in sync. If you only knew how tired I am of this roller coaster ride. That quick moment when your arms wrapped around me and locked me in that embrace - I didn’t want it to...
Jason Mraz | ‘Freedom Song’
randooomed: Transit: Canton - Pour Toi: Your...
Nick Jonas | ‘Haven’t Met You...
swollenpoetry: How could we insist on the persistence of a memory? When there’s so many things that easily slip through the cracks, carved by the sharp claws of forgetfulness? Vanishing without warning, like a thief in the night, or a firefly that has escaped your eyes. Why rely on ephemeral instances when there are things far restless and immortal than a mere piece of memory? Diamonds. And...
writeinspace: I don’t want to think about the ending. I am fully aware that my time with you is limited, but I don’t want to focus on what happens after everything has been said and done. Although, I can’t stop my mind from wandering. It’s sad isn’t it? Knowing how short our time together may be. To every end is a new beginning, but it’ll always be sad to say goodbye to something we’ve grown...
awarewolves: We arrive at the station, and this is your stop, not mine. Yet. We have traveled a long ride together. And this is the time where the train stops for you, where the tracks hold the burden of such weight. I try to say goodbye, but the words fall apart inside my chest. You retrieve your luggage, it’s time to go, you’re all set. The sweat in my palms increase. Your palm-lines aren’t...