Quote reblogged from MY MIND IS A MINEFIELD with 14 notes
If our hearts really broke everytime we fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now,
But hearts don’t break,
They bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies
We were emergencies.
Source: traffic.libsyn.com
Video reblogged from Heaven for the climate, hell for the company with 12 notes
I’m obsessed with this.
Source: whatteachersmake
Link reblogged from For where I am going with 5 notes
On the face of her phone, Wylenne programs a message to herself so when the alarm clock rings, the screen flashes “every day is one day less, everyday is one day less.”
Jordan tattoos the words “forgive me” in thick balck letters on the inside of his arm, so that when he looks at his wrist,he…
Source: immatreeletmebe
Quote reblogged from Like Spun Glass with 85 notes
Tonight, I’m catching nothing but the lightning bug. My body is a mason jar, transparent as a jelly fish. I wish for a heart that you can see straight through, for a voice that glows in the dark, and a few really good friends to skip these moon rocks to.
Source: likespunglass
Quote reblogged from Exotic Chemistry with 165 notes
Most of us will do anything
to try and prove that we are enough.
Source: exotic-chemistry
Quote reblogged from This Is Complete Garbage Man. with 3 notes
A doctor once told me I feel too much. I said, “so does God. That’s why you can see the Grand Canyon from the Moon.
Source: desideriodomini91
Video reblogged from Fuck Yeah Slam Poems! with 69 notes
“Prism” by Andrea Gibson
Source: itsgreattobealive
Quote reblogged from PAPER THIN & PAPER FRAIL with 17 notes
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.
Source: cat-likethief
Quote reblogged from Celeripedean with 26 notes
They say laughter is the best medicine
So I wrapped my arms up in a swing set chains
just to see if I still have funny bones
I do.
They’re aching now.
Like a foot
lost to a trap
Quote reblogged from The Orthodox Heretic with 54 notes
When I tell you I need to be alone, what I mean is that I don’t want you to see me changing the batteries on my confidence, or the mercury levels in my floundering.
Source: theorthodoxheretic
Video reblogged from wimpy beatnik with 11 notes
Buddy Wakefield : “Giant Saint Everything”
There were days I wanted out.
But then You would go and do things
like dive into the Vancouver ocean,
big brilliant cliché poem that You are,
water rolling off Your back
as You swam toward a sunset
that hung like a sacred recipe painted
all the way around Your holy head.And then there were the ways You caught me
moving back into my cave where the wheels turn,
same wheels that drove You off.
I should have told You
before talking in terms of Forever
that any given day wears me out and works me sour,
that there are nights when the sky is so clear
I stand obnoxious underneath it
begging for the stars to shoot at me
just so I can feel at Home.What’s left of You now is a shrine
built from the pieces I kept of Your presence,
Your incredible stretch of presence.
It sits in Our room like a sandpiper
cross-legged and crying,
remembering the night we met
and the day You left, and the Light
shifting in between.
By the side of it stands a picture of the poem where I promised,
“You will never have another lonely holiday.”The words “I Promise” and “Forever”
begged me not to use them
but sometimes I don’t listen to God,
so You can imagine how much it hurt
to let Your last birthday pass
with no word. August 3rd.
You weren’t the only one comin’ up lonesome.Listen, if I had to make a list
of everything everywhere
- and I mean everything… everywhere -
the very last to-do on that infinite list of
every – single – thing – would be – to hurt You,
so I need You to know
that in an attempt to keep my promise
I did write a letter to You on Your birthday.
It was covered in stickers of flock-printed stars,
choir claps, and a bonfire of buttercups stuck in the air,
but when I finally drew enough courage
to send You all the Love in the World
my hand snapped off in the mailbox
from clenching.It was returned to me with a gospelstitch, a hope stamp
and a note etched into the palm I had to pry open
with the pressure of pitching doves
reminding me
we agreed to let each other go.There is a point when tears don’t work
to wash things away anymore.
Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.
I miss You so much some days
that I beg for the airplane to crash
with just enough time in the freefall
for scribbling “I Love You” across my chest.
That way – when they find my burning breast plate –
they will tell You how the very last thing I did with my life
was call out Your name.A. R. L.
I know You’re momma didn’t raise no sissy,
so it’s best if I believe
that You’ve bounced back and been born again,
but in the bottom left corner of dreams
in the dark spot
where it gets windy and hollow
I can still see you flailing,
eating knuckle cake,
full torque and tender,
heart pounding from being pulled under,
feet bleeding from bracing for endings,
tongue dying to curse Forever
because promises murder us backwards
when people like me don’t keep them.And sure, we all deserve absolution,
but especially You. You and Faith,
You’ve got the same hungerpunch,
same song
still rising off the watertrain running through the laws
of a moon dead set on daylight
digging marbles from the trees
in a Love not scared to make no sense
and monkey enough to see
the same devastating reason for living this life
My Giant
Saint
EverythingI promise You
Forever
these words have buckled my lips
so far back to the beginning
that I am now allowed only
Today,
so from my snap-chested heart spraying
fully flying
sending out the birds:Today I stop believing in words.
Today all my visions converted to blurs
like the night We saw the Light
and I could not shut up
but I swear I was feelin’ silence.[August 06, 2005]
Source: wimpybeatnik
Audio post reblogged from wimpy beatnik with 9 notes - Played 30 times
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]We both know the smell of a convenience store at 4 a.m. like the backs
of alotta hands.
She sells me trucker crack/Mini-Thins (it’s like Vivarin).
She doesn’t make me feel awkward about it.
She can tell it’s been a long drive and it’s only gonna get longer.
Offers me a free cup of coffee, but I never touch the stuff.
Besides, I’m gonna need more speed than that.
We notice each other’s smiles immediately.
It’s our favorite thing for people to notice—our smiles.
It’s all either one of us has to offer.
You can see it in the way our cheeks stretch out like arms
wanting nothing more than to say, “You are welcome here.”
She—
shows brittle nicotine teeth with spaces between each one.
Her fingers are bony, there’s no rings on’m, and she’d love to get’er nails done someday.
One time she had’er hair fixed.
They took out the grease, made it real big on top, and feathered it.
She likes it like that.
She’ll never be fully informed on some things just like I will never understand
who really buys Moon Pies, or those rolling, wrinkled, dried-up sausages.
But then again, she’s been here a lot longer than me.
She’s seen everything
from men who grow dread locks out of their top lips
to children who look like cigarettes.
I give’er my money.
I wait for my change.
But I feel like there’s something more happening here.
I feel—
like a warm mop bucket and dingy tiles that’ll never come clean.
I feel like these freezers cannot be re-stocked often enough.
I feel like trash cans of candy wrappers
with soda pop dripping down the wrong side of the plastic.
I feel like everything just got computerized.
I feel like she was raised to say a LOT of stupid things about a color.
And I feel like if I were to identify myself as gay—
this conversation would stop.
It’s what I do.
I feel.
I get scared sometimes.
And I drive.
…But in 1 minute and 48 seconds I’m gonna walk outta here with a full tank of gas, a bottle of Mini-Thins, and a pint of milk while there’s a woman still trapped behind a formican counter somewhere in North Dakota who says she wants nothing more than to hear my whole story, all 92,775 miles of it.
I can feel it though, y’all, she’s heard more opinions and trucker small talk than Santa Claus has made kids happy, so I only find the nerve to tell’er the good parts, that she’s the kindest thing to happen since Burlington, VT, and I wanna leave it at that because men—who are not smart—have taken it farther, have cradled her up like a nutcracker and made her feel as warm as a high school education on the dusty back road, or a beer, in a coozy.
I feel like she’s been waiting here a long time for the one who’ll come 2-steppin’; through that door on 18 wheels without makin’er feel like it’s her job to sweep up the nutshells alone when she’s done been cracked again, who won’t tempt her to suck the wedding ring off his dick, but will show her—simply—LOVE.
She doesn’t need me or any other man but she doesn’t know that either, and I’m just hopin’ like crazy she doesn’t think I’m the one because the only time I’ll ever see North Dakota again is in a Van Morrison song late (LATE) at night, I promise.
Y’all, I feel like she’s 37 years old wearing 51 (badly), dying inside (like certain kinds of dances around fires) to speak through you, a forest, if you weren’t so taken with sparks.
But she was never given those words.
She has not been told she can definitely change the world.
She knows some folks do
but not in convenience stores
and NOT with lottery tickets
so
I finally ask’er what I’ve been feelin’ the entire time I’ve been standin’ there
still
gettin’ scared like I do sometimes
really (REALLY) ready to drive
I ask,
“Is this it for you?
Is this all you’ll ever do?”
Her smile
collapsed.
That tightly strapped-in pasty skin
went loose.
Her heart
fell crooked.
She said (not knowin’ my real name),
“I can tell, buddy, by the Mini Thins and the way ya drive—
we’re both taken with novelty.
We’ve both believed in mean gods.
We both spend our money on things that break too easily like…
people.
And I can tell
you think you’ve had it rough
so especially you should know…
It’s what I do,
I dream.
I get high sometimes.
And I’m gonna roll outta here one day.
I just might not get to drive.”
Quote reblogged from Words follow me like rain with 5 notes
I’ve never cared to be, more then I cared to become
Source: andthenlifecomesback
Quote reblogged from Michael James Photography with 9 notes
Our insanity is not that we see people who aren’t there, it’s that we ignore the ones who are.
Source: jamesmichaelphoto
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