the shortest flight to cincinnati is like 13 hours long for fuck’s sake

korea is like 10

I can’t fly on hawaiian or korean air

isn’t united famous for being terrible

I am dying from the stress and I’m just buying tickets jesus christ

I have to make sure the plane is a certain model, I have to look at layovers, and tell them that I want to upgrade to economy plus ugh

write this on a post-it note.

sinandserotonin:

I don’t think
poetry has
to fit a specific form
or sound a certain way

as long as it makes you think
and reaches out to touch
the hollow parts of you—

poetry just helps you remember
that you can feel a certain way

and that maybe the flower
growing on the divider
of the street by your house

means so much more
than the shade of yellow
it imitates from the sun.

5/18/13

my tongue
has given
nothing but
suffering—

words become
swords on my lips
and they were never
the wildflowers planted
in the barren womb
of a lonely heart
by other poets.

I am a wildfire,
wild-eyed and
ravenous,

consuming the
delicate blooms
of innocence—

there was nothing
beautiful about
this writer’s hands
until you came to grace
my fingers with something
other than the vitriol of anger
and the bitter aftertaste of
being forgotten once again.

ashes breathe life back into soil
and tender buds beckon to the sun.

said the man to his reflection.

the whites of your eyes
are telling stories
full of lies

and the smoke
you have come
to crave

as much
as canvas lips
painted crimson

has swirled like
pacific/atlantic currents
sleeping fitfully side by side

filling up the empty sighs
of your honeyed words
overflowing with deceit.

omg boo is freaking out

my baby looks happy though

3/17/13

smooth out
the creases
left behind by
careless folds
and rough hands

because I am soft
for you and only you—

overlapping edges
that seem like blades,
creating fragile wings
to carry you back to me.

your pages are crumpled
but are far from worthless
and I keep them in my heart
in case I ever need a wish.

one thousand leaves
to make one thousand
paper cranes—

one thousand reasons
for me to stay.

shave ice

storm season.

if you are a hurricane,
then I am the ocean—

there is calm in your stormy eyes
and my placid waters run deep.

set a collision course for land,
gathering strength in my arms
and stir up the waves that crash
against the crag rock shoreline.

exhaust yourself and return to me
when the winds die down and
the torrential rains cease—

build yourself up
in the safety of my sea.

bam, selfie

first we use our eyes
and then we use our heart

no matter how much we preach
about doing it the other way around.

don’t worry.

I have found
home in you

and everything
is where it
should be.

there are
no ghosts
in the walls—

the only voice
I hear is yours.

falling into place
after drifting on
the whims of
the world—

I feel safe here.

I used to hate poetry because it had too many rules but then I realized that the first rule is that you don’t have to follow any of them.

I’ve realized that if I don’t write as much as I usually do or don’t write at all, I sink back into depression.

self-medication through self-expression.

my bones have been very heavy for the past few days
and I have been sinking back into the blackest seas
but I’m floating now, on my raft of words
and I’m happy that I can swim.

write this on a post-it note.

I don’t think
poetry has
to fit a specific form
or sound a certain way

as long as it makes you think
and reaches out to touch
the hollow parts of you—

poetry just helps you remember
that you can feel a certain way

and that maybe the flower
growing on the divider
of the street by your house

means so much more
than the shade of yellow
it imitates from the sun.

fate and city streets.

I refuse
to believe
that every road
will lead me
to the same
destination—

destiny is not
something that
culminates in
convergence.

a map crossed out
and replaced with
a world atlas

and the future
circled in red
ballpoint pen—

corrections and
revisions to a life
that has yet to end.