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25 février 2015 @ 22:40
everything feels like a breath held tight in the chest, waiting to see what happens.
things are about to change.
i can feel it, like i can feel the gradual lengthening of the days.
i have my expectations of how they'll change... but the looming suspicion i'll be disappointed.
i feel this way often.
i hope for someone to behave or feel a certain way, i tell myself they won't, but then i am shocked when they don't.
maybe i should try less to hide away my expectations, and instead confront them.

i am so afraid of losing my home, of losing people i was once close with, and ultimately of failing.
but i'll be okay if i don't run.
27 janvier 2015 @ 14:39
may 16th 2012

laying in the back seat of my mom's light green car
looking up through the skylight
on the way to move out of my apartment
trying to figure out how i'm going to navigate this world
but drawing a blank
breathing out a deep sigh and feeling otherwise relaxed
quitting school & going to work & never going fishing
echoes on the stereo
packing up the life i never loved to begin with
and slipping away in to the unknown


“Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,' Holly advised him. 'That was Doc's mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That's how you'll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky."
30 août 2014 @ 01:20
on that note, for every time i crave safety, i think about other times:

riding on bike handlebars across a bridge
sleeping in the back of a car in chinatown
psychedelics at the airport
kissing strangers
secret restaurants in detroit
climbing up above bonfires
sneaking in to buildings


and i think about how good i've gotten at what i do.
23 juillet 2014 @ 01:53
how many times do we recycle the same
on the people that come and go in our lives
28 novembre 2013 @ 12:44
listening to house of love
and endlessly digging
24 octobre 2013 @ 00:19
i feel good about things, in general.
30 juin 2013 @ 22:11
holy shit
it's done
i am out
no more sleeping in the same bed with tyra
no more bugs everywhere
no more butthole roommates
i have internet
i can unpack
i am done
i am out

the last two months have been a complete crisis and somehow i am still standing
not even standing, but sitting in my bed in my room with my cat

i can finally relax
23 février 2013 @ 01:49
there was a time
when we felt we could get everything we want
by writing things down on strips of paper
and folding them in to stars
26 août 2012 @ 20:59
who i am

i feel drawn to tender
fragile things.

the gentler side of things
with their dark underbellies exposed in submission.

i will love you forever.
even when i am no longer show it.

little pieces come together to form a greater whole
a greater hole that leads downwards.
watching the light become more faint as you descend.
pretty little things under the ground.

i hold out my hand.
both of our hearts, beat, lungs grow and shrink.
to each our own.

i cannot see his eyes behind the blinders, but i wonder if he can see mine.
he faces forward, attentively.
his nostrils flare.
he takes deep breaths of me in, slowly, exhaling sharply.
i want to reach out and touch his great face, his hair so fine it is hardly visible: surface fuzz.
but i know he is not ready, so i stand with him and i let him take me in,
as i do the same.
he does not move for a long while, and then cranes his neck to rip grass up from the dirt with his teeth.
when i turn to leave, halfway down the road, i turn around, and i watch him watching me again.
i wave goodbye and i smile thinking of him.
a special creature - not unlike me.

i am not afraid of animals because i am attentive, sensitive, and patient.
i (like to think i) know where i sit in the balance.

to tame a wild beast.
i will love you forever.
to tame a wild beast.
he breathes in time with me. somewhere his eyelashes flutter against burlap.
holding tight. fists clenched.
22 février 2012 @ 01:48
give it up.

put yourself in bed, curl up in the covers.

take the narrative out of your eyelids.
replace it with purples, greens, blacks, and gold sparkles.

you're home tonight, here in your own skin.

hug yourself tightly.

you'll be okay. every thing will be okay.

warm summer days of smiling and the smell of sweat aren't long off.
the soft sound of fireflies bumping in to the window.
the creak of a boat tied up to a rock.
watching lightning dance across the buildings.

it's hard to convince yourself, but you have to know it'll all work out and time will keep moving. you are only making it harder on yourself by feeling otherwise.