simple little thoughts.

The lawn gnomes had all lost their hats
and the one that was my favorite, the one
that held a flower, had walked away from
our lawn after he pulled me into him
on my doorstep after our first date.

I pictured the gnome's little face twisted
into contempt as he started at this man
who had held my door for me all night
and smiled at me as I bought a book
in the middle of our date inside of a snow globe.

I used to have dreams that lawn gnomes
were hiding under my bed waiting to kill me.
As I grew up, the gnomes became much
scarier and moved from under my bed to
filling my mind completely with insecurity.

But I told him I hated mornings and that
I look horrible when I roll out of bed.
He looked down shyly and whispered
that he thought that would be impossible;
I'm happy my ring got left behind as I left his house.

It wasn't on purpose per se,
but I smiled knowing he would find it in the morning.

via *

warning

Healthy raspberry scented flames burned
through the cathedral of his heart.
They whipped out and reverberated down
his spinal chord where she had touched him.
Her worshipping fingers were brought
to justice one by one.

With each tentative tip toe of her fingertips
down his spine, the flames grew hotter. Wilder.
Eager to eat her hands. She had selected this fate,
willing to let her fingerprints dissolve for the chance
to feel his heat. To pull him into her chest
until they both stood in cinders.

Passing from first to third degree in no time,
they stood in bewildered silence except for
their heaving breath. She would inhale,
he would exhale, curling smoke easing
back and forth in their dirty lungs.
The sin to her was worth the taste.

via *

if I lay here

"I hope you're old boyfriends tickled your back for you," he says and I can hear the pout playing on his lips. I shut my eyes and feel his chest rise and fall slowly, my ear pressed against his chest bone. I feel those first few pinprick tears starting to play around inside of my tear ducts and blink hard to push them away. Keep myself here in this moment, with his hands painting swirls across my back.

"I honestly can't remember the last time anyone tickled my back," I whisper towards the darkness in front of me. The dark is pixelated by the city lights peeking behind the blinds. The dark is made softer by the crooning records spinning endlessly and closing us into an insular world.

He pushes his lips softly into my midnight hair and inhales deeply. I inhale too, taking in every molecule of this moment. "That's a shame," he speaks, "your skin is so soft."

via *

10.30.14

Feeling your mind expand and be molded feels exactly like speeding on an empty city road at midnight. That sense of wild freedom in a place that is usually so full. That feeling of recklessness, that wild and climbing sensation as you pull forward ever faster and faster, screaming with your car, hurtling at 90 miles an hour to a new destination.

It is so scary to grow and learn from people. But connection is such an intense craving in the marrow of our very human bones. Opening yourself, handling your heart to someone and hoping they will cradle it and not stomp it into the floorboards takes so much strength. But God, what a sensation and what a miracle when you finally do it.

I've always wanted to be close to my sister. I've wanted to be a person who could be having a hard day and immediately think to call her on the phone and complain and cry with her. The kicker is, we are ten years apart and so so different. She's medical, I'm English lit. She's Christian, I'm... other. She's so similar to me that I think I've been inventing differences this whole time in hopes that I would stop feeling guilty and disappointed when we weren't best friends when she came to visit from Texas.

But tonight for the first time we opened up to each other and I finally got to say some of the things I've been burying for so so long. I have had no one to tell these words to and it all came spilling out and finally, finally, after years and years I heard the one phrase I have needed from someone in my family. She's proud of me. She is with me. She sees me. And I am so grateful.

there was a boy

His quiet intelligence simmers just below his clouded and curious eyes, eyes that have seen and hunger to see more. Eyes hungering for the feeling of true connection and more than a shared cigarette at the last call of a bar. He knows he is intelligent, he has worked for it, but for reasons unknown he masks it in jest and drink. But the moment you get him alone, feel his hands gliding across your arms and feel the blood pulsing through his deep veins, you feel his mind pressing through the insecurities. The mind of a true artist; someone gentle, kind, protective, passionate. A silken pompadour sits on top of a quizzical brow, always seeking to be inspired, brows that move up and down to an unheard melody of a song only he can hear in his heart. How can this boy not know how truly grand he is without the input of others? How can he be so nervous when he could be so great? Youth will fade to experience and he will soar and we will all be lucky to have had his hands upon us.

His mouth requires pause. It’s like whiskey. It’s deep and you feel it in your knees when you look at it or taste it too long. His tongue wisps at his teeth, framed by full lips, wisps like a string of smoke sneaking out as they part. With your thumb pulling pouting lips to parting, you know how it would feel to have his mouth on your rib cage, piercing through your skin like scissors through tissue paper, forcing the breath right out of you. His skin is smooth and firm, the skin of a breath of fall air and moonlight. There’s nature and grace and beer and musk, a will to prove himself, a will to succeed, a will to feel everything the world can offer him. It’s an old soul and a young heart, a mind on Neptune, and lips on mine.

via *

the time has come, my little friends, to talk of many things

For years- years- I've anticipated being able to go back to school. I've fought and cried and dreamed and yearned for the day in January of 2014 that I'd be able to get myself onto a campus full of hungry minds and thirsty eyes. I want to sit in classrooms full of students and share ideas and learn until my brain pounds from being overfilled.

Well, the time has come. School starts tomorrow. And I'm so terribly frightened. I'm afraid I won't find my classes (even though I've already been to campus and walked between them just to get the feeling of the path under my feet), I'm afraid people won't like me, I'm so scared I won't succeed and all of this planning and hope will be wasted.

What if I'm not good enough? What if I've spent all this time thinking I could write and thinking I was intelligent only to be told I'm not good enough or ready for this? I hate so much that anticipation drives the brain into a grave of fear and hesitation. Every semblance of confidence has evaporated and now I'm just so scared of failure and future.

I'm afraid of failure, but I'm afraid of success too. Success means that things have to change. I have to grow up. The thought of actually achieving your dreams is a heavy thought. What if I'm not ready? What if I'm never ready?

I am excited. I think. I'll be more excited after the first few days are over with and I know for certain I can find my classes in 15 minutes and I know for sure where to park my car. Just have to breathe, right? Everyone has been afraid before, right? Everyone has had first days? Everyone has made it?

Send good thoughts, lovelies. This past year while I've been waiting to start school, you have all kept me motivated and going. The support I've gotten from all of you has been the biggest blessing. I love you all to the moon and back. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. Thank you for taking a part of my little life in my little corner of the internet. You are all the very best.

via *

thirty dialogs bleed into one

Happy New Year, lovers. I was right about last night being wonderful, and incredibly surprising. Incredibly Surprising. In fact if last night is any inclination as to how 2014 will be, it will be crazy and surprising and beautiful and unexpected. I could use a bit of all of that in my life.

Last night I talked with my dearest friend for the first time in two years, and I get to see him today.
Last night I spent my new year with my James Dean and got my heart served to me on a platter.
Last night I went to bed at six in the morning after having my head scream for hours.
Sometimes there are just too many words for how you feel.

Today I feel settled. Excited. Scared. Anxious. I feel a lot of things. As it turns out, my life will never be uncomplicated. Ever. But I am surrounded by gorgeous people, inside and out. That's all I can ask for, really. I'd rather be constantly unsettled than bored and uninspired.

via *

lightning rod

I like him, I think.

I don't remember how that feels.

The tripping trepidation,

the bubbling bewilderment,

the thought of someone new

on the horizon. 

A few weeks back

he told me he was ready to

give up on love.

He's been so hurt,

his care never being returned.

He says my friendship means the world.

How do I tell him

I've been hurt too,

I've given all of myself

and lost every inch of who I was

for love.

His words always inspire me,

his last name sounds like adventure,

his first name sounds like hope.

He is an artist.

I'm weak for artists.

His mind is marvelous.

He makes me feel creative.

Heard.

Understood.

Worthy.

Talented.

I don't want to see our 

friendship disappear. 

I can't make him ready if he's not. 

But every time his name flashes

on my phone screen,

my heart flips.

I told him not to 

give up forever.

Just for now.

Wait it out,

love will strike again.

How do I tell him that he

has become my lightning rod? 

via *