Furor
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In your eyes, I saw the sonnets that never left your tongue
the words older than ears that sound like secrets to the young
but sound alarms the... -
Paper Dolls
She cuts out paper dolls
from wings of Luna moths
then holds them up to the light
and releases them as they take flight.Porcelain...
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Cancer,
They found you in my bloodstream yesterday.
Crawling; falling through my veineries.
Seeping deep rose red into the white of my bones-
A... -
Feeling spring brunches and happy dresses…
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(via thetangential)
If you work with your hands and your mind, you’re a craftsman.
If you work with your hands and your mind and your heart, you’re an artist.”
- Saint Francis of Assisi
(via twcwelcomecenter)
We listen to strange music.
Have a strong desire for sex than most.
Addicted to Coffee.
Are fond of tea.
Let the ocean allow us to believe there is more to life than just this.
Question the unquestionable.
Wear our heart on our sleeves— whether we like to admit it or not.
Laugh until we cry.
Cry until we laugh.
Love old bookstores.
And appreciate both sexes.
We are not just writers,
but poets.
what’s your excuse?
—ME
(via twcwelcomecenter)
(via twcwelcomecenter)
Pro: It’s free advertising for my favorite causes!
Con: But really, does anyone ever get stuck behind someone in traffic and say, “Hey, I want some of what he’s having!”
Pro: I can express my individuality!
Con: Via mass-produced stickers featuring brands and slogans?
Pro: Makes it…
“What do you do?”
It’s a question I’ve been getting a lot lately. I’m new in town. People want to know why I left a city booming with opportunity for a small mountain town across the country. If my boyfriend is standing next to me, I let him answer first and hope that the conversation takes off from there, without ever returning for my response.
He’s a lawyer, working remotely for a firm in NYC. When he looks away from his computer, he’s staring at mountains and trees - at life.
“Wow.” They say. ”How nice!”
They ask what kind of law, probably hoping to reference their favorite television drama. That’s what I’d be thinking at least…
“Insurance regulatory law.” He’s lost them. They turn to me.
“And what do you do?” What do I do… I always hesitate, taking the moment to wonder myself what exactly it is I’m doing. In New York, I learned to refer to myself as a starving artist after growing tired of listing the four part-time jobs I needed to survive as a writer in that city. Of course these jobs had nothing to do with writing, other than their inspirational value. Maybe I should start wearing all of my old track medals around my neck (the ones in my mother’s attic) and tell everyone “look at all the races I won back in high school. I was good at something once, see!” Of course, since then I went to a local college and dropped out so that I could move to Chicago and be a writer. The plan didn’t really work out. So I moved to New York to be a writer, and again failed. Now here I am again, living in Park City, Utah and being asked what it is I do. ”I’m a writer.”
“Ohhh.” They’re impressed. That’s because they have no idea how loosely I’m using the title. ”What kind of writing do you do?”
“I’m working on a novel.” Not entirely a lie. I am working on a novel. I’ve written the same fifty pages more than 270 times over the past five years. I’m working on it.
“Do you have a publisher?”
“No.”
“What’s it about?” I hate this question. I hate it the most out of all of them. It makes me want to just give up and tell everyone I’m actually a drug trafficker. That would probably shut them up. Maybe not. I’d actually have a lot of questions if someone told me that. The first one being “how much money do you make?”
The truth is, I don’t even really know what the fuck this book is about. I know some of the characters’ experiences, but they’re pretty dark and when I start to talk about them I get faces that say, man, how fucked up are you? So now I get generic and call it a coming of age tale. I leave out the rape and self-mutilation and the main character’s stint in the mental hospital - anything that could implicate myself as a girl who’s been through a thing or two…
Yeah, maybe I’ll start saying I traffic drugs.
(via twcwelcomecenter)
i always wondered why
gravity was strong enough
to keep me from flying
but too weak to keep me
from growing up.
