February 2012
121 posts
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If there was something I could slip into your hands for my final words to you for forever (or maybe a while because we have spoken for that allotted amount of time), it would read Thank you for loving me as much as an Ocean like you could love the Sun when we were sixteen. Thank you for loving me endlessly for months on end. Thank you for letting me love you as much as Galileo must have loved the...
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I am ready to abandon this image of what people perceive me to be from these last seven years of school, from my awkward braces to my tears to my too-loud phase to my too-quiet phase. I am ready to reconstruct myself over the summer, and not really talk to any one old except those whom I love with all I am. I am ready to free myself, to call myself by my true name, and to finally tell every one...
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imfeelingdirectionlessyes asked me: write about the bliss of ignorance but the nowness of knowing that we are destroying our earth and crying for it as though it was a lost lover.
This afternoon when I was checking out of my favourite secondhand bookstore with Lolita, The Passion and The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man secured underneath my arm, I heard a crackle in the radio signal as...
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Anonymous: In my greatest dreams, my life will consist of…
my self, happy and in bliss, most days. I will have a little Home with my wife (whose hair will be long and flowing in the summer), and I will write love letters to her every single morning that she is breathing out the first poem I placed on her mouth when we kissed for the first time. She will bend like light does, omnipresent. We...
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I swear if I ever date a girl who wears copious amounts of make up, I may never know until I spend the night at her house, and she leaves me for many minutes, washing off eye shadow or mascara or blush (or whatever it is called - I am not sure). I will slip into the bathroom after she is done, and tell her that she missed a spot. She will turn around, and I will say that she indeed did not, but...
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I realised a few moments ago that I do not write better when I am in love; I have put this pain into writing, into the essence of the definition of the word hope, like a dear friend suggested. I am hoping on all the star clusters, the small things, and in strangers’ smiles that I will fall in love again. I am becoming my own muse; the way my hip bones hurt in the morning, a new little vein in my...
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Anonymous asked me to: marvel at the fact that there are 7 billion people in the world
Sputnik shares the fact that the Earth is covered with lights at night when souls are asleep in New York City, in Paris, in Rome, in London, and in all places that people inhabit. There are more children laughing in the streets, playing football with dust collected at the spaces in between their toes. There are...
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cartographe asked: Tell me a story about something you broke.
When I was younger, I often found embers caught in the neuron clusters of my amygdala, smoldering a sense of anger at my self. I was horrified at my inability to be normal - to be able to fall in love with a boy, to do simple mathematics, to write a good stanza, to not cry at every single little thing that made me nervous. I drew...
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Today, my creative writing teacher wrote in the margins of my words that I could be paid to write love poems between lovers, when in reality, that is the opposite of what I want. I do not want to become a paid Poet. I want to become Your Whitman, Your Cummings, Your Keats, Your Elliot, Your Neruda. I do not want to be a public Poet; I want to be come that foreign word that I have forget. I want to...