February 2011
57 posts
While you were at class I rolled in your warm sheets.
Dance Anthem of the 80’s by Regina Spektor
He pulls
on my
heart—strings
like
he pulls on
my hair.
I have learned the value of love and the treasure it can contain when the right people share it.
January 2011
96 posts
The sky above my head was purple, the ground cold and damp.
My Heart With You by The Rescues
My pores dripped the words that my mouth could not fulfill.
There are a lot people who call you by your name and say it with such ease. But there is usually one person that when they say it, there is something more special about it. Like it’s suddenly magical but from their lips only.
“Is there weather on the moon?”
– E.B.
A walking beam of light.
It’s snowing. I’m staying inside, watching “An Education” and drinking tea.
It was like watching a glass fall to the floor. The moments where each second is filled with numerous paragraphs. The inhale; the gasp. The elephant in the room. There you stood, solid, brown eyed and handsome. I wanted to be my reflection in the mirror rather than my own self. I was silly putty; molded into loving you.
E: Do me a solid and throw your hanfd up in the skyyyy.
T: Are you drunk?
E: Shhhhh.
(The way they touch your bare skin.)
The words were pouring through me, not out of me. All I could do was stand there and look at him from across the room. He licked his lips. I knew there was more to be said, but how do you tell someone everything and nothing in the same moment. You can’t. So I sat there and loved you within feet and within moments.
Sometimes when I wake up I don’t feel awake at all.
“If you can not be a poet,
be the poem.”
– David Carradine
The Calculation by Regina Spektor
If I could only say five words for the rest of my life, they would be: please, why, everything, nothing and hold.
The sun dripped over his town. It was the end of August. And it was lonely. He missed all that had dissolved in the past few weeks; the excitement, the noise, the laughter, the fire. But most of all he missed the smell of her hair. The way it shaped her face. The smile she would give him in the small moment of half awake—half asleep. Her way of walking on the tips of her toes, as if she was...
For every “I don’t know” I’ve ever had, there was always ten “I know”s.
Anxious for arms.
Her legs were burning. The sticks and brush scratching up against them. But she knew she had to keep running.
I’m wrapped up in all the moments I’ve had with the people I know and don’t know. The people who don’t know me. The ones on the street that might take a small glance over, that I might take a small glance to. I’m wrapped up in all of the words that I’ve written and all of the words that I’ve spoken (written>spoken). I’m wrapped up in you. In your...
Breathing in your heat, some days my lungs feel on fire.
Spine; yours. Opening up into Branches —of shoulders. And leaves of muscle.
“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings...”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
The sound of holding. The sound of your eyes. The sound of my skin next to yours.
She coiled her locks around her index finger. “But what do you do when someone falls in love with you?” He said it more as a statement than something ending with a question mark; looking at her like she was from a whole other world. “They won’t. How would they know? No one ever knows.” She wiped a section of hair out of her face. He looked towards her face. Soft and...
some things are worth the stars. but others, others are worth the whole sky.
If books could talk and walls could whisper.
I wanted him to take hold of my hand. And I wanted him to feel how frail my fingers were. Cold appendages; warmth on the tips. I thought that maybe if my palm lined up with his in a certain way, just right, he’d know of his importance and the way my stomach twisted when he licked his lips; dry from the winter’s harsh wind. I turned my head to the right, my breath fogged up the window....
“I can’t believe that life’s so complex,
when I just want to sit...”
– This is Love, Polly Jean Harvey
Follower: What’s your inspiration for the things you write? I love the way you write and I just wonder where your style comes from?
Answer: My inspiration is from everything around me, but probably most from the one who makes my bones shake. I just like that romantic style of writing and I think I always will. Thank you!
I carried my hopes in my back pockets; gems hiding in threads. We walked like kings and queens with no castle in sight. Step by step; coiled my heart. Stone by stone brought me closer to everything I wanted that my lips wouldn’t confess. I balanced my arms to maintain my steps. Jumping to the last rock, my feet unstable; your hand on the small of my back.
How very.
straightforwardly, without complexities or pride
“Our Similarities bring us to a common ground; Our Differences allow us to be...”
– Tom Robbins
