April172013
“I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.” Andrea Gibson (via lazyteen)

Love love love

(via livelikelighterfluid)

April162013

Just laughed so hard.  Oh goodness.

(Source: unabating, via toleadistoserve)

3PM

December 6th, 2072: Which Is To Say

     

    The day was as cold as it was beautiful

    Which is to say, it was not much of either.

    It was as exciting as any Wednesday

    And I was as happy as I ever was with you

    Which is to say

    It was raining.

     

    •  

     

    This day was the first that your company felt

    Like a bed kept freezing

    No matter its occupants.

    I shook at the thought of you,

    Within my own skin I ran from you

    To a river as clear as your intentions.

     

    •  

     

    Which is to say

    It was clear

    But so cold it burned my feet.

    We did not mean for this to end.

    As defined as the mouth of a river

    Which is to say

     

    •  

     

    It was as much an end as a beginning.

    Out of the ashes you left me

    I grew a flowering spine

    Slowly, I filled in around what you gave me

    Which is to say

    I am stronger now,

    •  

    Which is to say

    I didn’t need you,

    Which is to say

    I wanted you

    Which is to say

    Forgive me.

    •  

    I love the rain.

    I am scared of the comfort you built for me

    In your open hands

    And honest chest.

    When we burned

    and broke

    •  

    You grew yourself (like I did) but as a tree

    Which is to say

    You inspired me.

    You opened, splintered, 

    Over and over

    To show me all of you.

    •  

    And of all the wood

    You built me a boat of you

    Which is to say

    Carry me,

    Which is to say

    Take me with you,

    •  

    Which is to say

    I was afraid that you were as endless as a river

    To someone who is standing

    Thinking there may be an end

    But someone cannot see it.

    It may not be there at all.

    •  

    Which is to say

    I don’t know either

    Which is to say

    Take me with you.

    For someone who was raised

    To look for happy endings

    •  

    A love

    This expansive

    Is as daunting

    As death

    And just as unconditional

    Which is to say

    •  

    Take me with you

    Which is to say

    I love you

    Which is to say

    That is 

    All there is.

    April122013

    Autobiography of Orange

    I was born before the first dawn
    When space first began to swallow itself
    An got too greedy.
    In the first burst of light
    And substance from the dark
    There I was
    Born without a name

    I have always been a daughter of light
    A small reminder of infinite power
    A taste of brightness far away and long ago
    On the first dawn of earth
    I nearly swallowed it whole
    Arching from horizon to horizon
    I gave flowers the idea of blooming

    On the 285th millionth dawn
    I touched the tips of outstretched branches
    Now they call out for me in color
    Leaves and fruit that ache
    For a closer sunrise
    I am god of dying
    I am what you see before the light

    I am one generation
    Below eternal
    I am everywhere that
    Dark has an opposite
    In other words, worlds,
    I still have no name

    I have yet to touch them
    They have yet to die
    And so I am forever young
    Forever generations above you
    I am
    Forever
    How dare you try to name me

    January32013

    The Lost Woman’s Journals

    This is a poem inspired by Brendan Constantine’s poem, “The Missing Girl’s Horse”

    We changed the sheets on the couch
    In the living room that had no enemy of stairs
    For her frail bones
    We waited for her in bathrobes
    Then black stockings
    •   
    In the morning we tore the house apart
    Under sofas and carpets
    We looked for her, but found dust
    We took the books from the bookshelves
    The pictures from the walls
    •  
    To see if she was hiding in more obvious places
    We looked to see if her voice got caught
    In creases
    But there was nothing
    Just the raspy whisper
    •   
    Of pages among pages
    When we found it
    We wished we hadn’t
    A shelf of black leather binding
    A page for all the volume she never let
    Her voice reach
    •   
    Her journals warned she was there
    But not the woman we knew
    The anger she never wore
    The hate she held in blue scripted loops
    •  
    The things she couldn’t escape
    She left them to us
    But we were lost
    And thought she was
    Just because we couldn’t find her.
    12AM

    Love like

    I know what it is to eat too much

    To sleep too much

    To be too much

    To topple onto your own back

    And be further than

    Where you began

    I know what it is to feel bloated

    Unruly

    Like your own body does not know its limits

    So it’s pushing

    I know how to wake up more tired

    Than nearly sleeping

    How to walk through dreams

    On the way to the closet

    The bathroom

    Wake feet on cold tile

    Most days

    We feel fat

    We kiss like baked potato chips

    Lightly

    Salted

    We convince ourselves hunger

    Is the most righteous form

    Of discomfort

    Most days

    We watch people get full

    Laughing babies

    Locker room speeches

    Lingering lips

    We just watch

    Not all men eat well

    Not all women are starving

    Somewhere in the middle

    There are people

    Laughing like warm pie in the evening

    Making love

    Like homemade grilled cheese

    You and I

    Fall asleep

    Like marinara sauce

    on Sundays.

    December282012
    did-you-kno:

Source

Not true.  Not a fact.
Oprah 
Wu Yajun
Meg Whitman

    did-you-kno:

    Source

    Not true.  Not a fact.

    1. Oprah 
    2. Wu Yajun
    3. Meg Whitman

    (via did-you-kno)

    November62012

    NEW SHIT! “A Daughter of the Game”

    I am no one’s son

    But my father bought me my first beer over a green diamond

    And we watched the best knuckle ball pitcher

    To have ever lived

    Pitch for the home team

    And I’m no aficionado

    I don’t chase the flash and fury of showmanship

    I wait for the grace

    For the perfect throw

    The honor and glory in performance under pressure

    I am not a son

    Nor a heated red faced drunken screamer

    With something to prove to my fellow inebriates

    I won’t hit a kid to catch a fly ball

    In a cap and foam finger

    I am not a tourist

    I won’t stand up and yell at the umpire in inning 3

    Because I bring a radio and I pay for the view

    I am not a son

    But I used to get blisters from stitches

    And wear cleats in the winter

    I used to have bruises on my thighs

    Because you don’t run

    From a stray pitch

    You take the base

    Walk it off

    Look them in the eyes

    And steal second if you cry

    And I’m no good with stats

    But I know that you swing with 2 outs and 2 strikes

    I know that the box is no time for window shopping

    And that a curve ball has more to do with faith

    Than physics

    When you swing

    But

    My father has a son

    He played D-1 for Lafayette

    Throws 88 miles per hour

    Became a producer

    Brought the world series to your home

    In 2009

    He is Emmy award-winning successful

    And he

    He had heroes that he could share clothes with

    He had legends that he could be for Halloween

    Baseball cards that looked like him

    If he re-wrote the name

    I am not my father’s son

    I am an English major with hips and a stray profession

    Because girls like me don’t get millions for winning titles

    So what was there to look up to

    My baseball card was pink on the refrigerator

    My deck was a binder of men

    And the women of A League of Their Own

    Taped onto construction paper

    Had I existed

    In another decade

    When our young and arrogant country was too short on men

    And too full of women

    I would have been laminated

    When it took a war to cherish a wooden bat

    In between painted fingernails

    And when they came home no one cheered for the home team

    They asked for the good old boys

    The sons

    And I am no son

    Forgive me for keeping my clothes on

    For not treating this profession like cosplay

    For refusing to play in a skirt

    Because I can throw a knuckleball underhand

    I know what a sinker looks like at the brim of your motion

    I played 12 games and 4 doubleheaders with 2 broken fingers on each hand

    I batted fourth on the travel team

    Because there were girls better than me

    And there are girls better than me

    But they don’t have a salary for my job

    They don’t have heroes for my job

    They don’t have action figures

    Or commercial deals

    For my job

    They don’t have my job

    So here I am

    Out of uniform

    Because I have about as much of a shot

    At spring training

    As I do at the primaries

    Because I am not a son

    And I don’t yet have one

    Because I haven’t inherited my merit from a Y chromosome

    I am a quiet fan

    A jersey-wearing defender

    Of the home town

    A Tuesday night home game statistic

    With a glove and a radio

    And ESPN

    I am a daughter

    Of America’s greatest pastime

    I am a woman of the game.

    October222012

    Dear Oceanside,

    Dear Oceanside-We’ve recently experienced the loss of a young soldier who grew up with us.  We are terrified, and devastated, and shaken. Romney and the Republican campaign has stated numerous times that they want to go “intervene” in Syria, and other middle-east countries that we don’t belong in. Romney says he’ll “identify and organize those members of the opposition who share our values and ensure they obtain the arms they need” in Syria.  How have we not learned from this?  We gave weapons to Al Quaeda in the 1980s and 90s, and weapons to private parties in Iran as well.  Why would giving weapons to a nation in turmoil be any different this time? This loss has shaken our town, and our faith in our government.  I hope that we don’t direct our anger in the wrong direction and let it cloud our judgement as voters-  the Republican campaign is going to put MORE troops on the ground in other hostile nations.  I don’t know what Obama is going to do, but it scares me that in the name of this young fallen soldier we are talking about voting for an administration who historically seeks out violence.  I want our troops home, and not more places to put troops on the ground. Greg didn’t deserve this, none of our soldiers do. Don’t vote for vengeance against this administration, when the next could be so much worse.  Read the policies.  Be educated.  Don’t vote, or believe, out of fear.  

    Please repost if you think this type of thinking needs to be addressed.

    Below are some links to articles so you can make your own opinions:

    http://www.economist.com/blogs/lexington/2012/10/mitt-romneys-foreign-policy

    http://www.mittromney.com/issues/middle-east

    http://www.barackobama.com/national-security?source=primary-nav

    October42012

    The Presidential Debate

    Presidents are figureheads.. I want a cabinet debate.

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