i’m not going to delete this blog because i like the idea of always being able to go back read what i wrote when i was younger, but i deleted all the content that wasn’t my own (and most of the pictures), because i hate all the filler. i guess i just feel as though i’ve grown out of the tumblr stage in my life and i want something more melted-down where i don’t know anyone and i’m judged soley on what i have to say..not who i am. thank you for following me. i hope you all have beautiful lives.
I like when you drive over here at three in the morning just to sleep with me for a couple hours before we have to go to work or school. but i think i’m getting too used to the feeling of you leaving. i’m trying to hard to cling on to our little moments.though thankful, i hunger, yearn even for something more. i miss driving to different states with you, and dancing with you in my bedroom. you’re here, i know, i feel it. yet every night i remind myself that soon you will be even farther.
my lack of excitement reminds me that i am a wholly unreliable person. please don’t count on me for much because chances are that in some way or another, i will let you down.
you are sleep deprived, leaving cookies on my pillow
and coldness in my toes.
i wish you had an ugly soul, so that i could leave you
but as it stands, you stand
shivering and dripping on the floor.
i’m going to write my research paper about how our concept of fame is fleeting. then i am going to take a birth control pill because god knows i i don’t need a baby.
tonight is a night that i just feel like ignoring my phone and getting really drunk with someone that i’ve hurt too many times. i have never felt this before
tonight i finished two college applications. i feel both accomplished, and very, very tired. good night, moon
it’s a sad moment your life when you don’t have a friend to tell you that your writing sucks.
I know I might have friends but they don’t have me. they haven’t in a while because I had the idea in my head that they were making me miserable. and now that I’ve left them, i’m still lost.
i want to find the courage to drown,
and fall out of love with myself.
there’s an idea out
that poets, writers, artists
and the like
they must dance more
think more, feel more
than the normal folk.
the songs they write,
they’re about their girlfriends.
they must be special too.
but they’re not.
they lie and shit
and breathe just like anyone
they’re also boring
like this poem.
i suppose i’m expected to write some poetry on this blog if i want it to be successful or if i want a lot of followers. or if i want to be popular. but i don’t feel like being popular or successful or special today. i just want to write a fucking letter and eat beef stew. i really wish that the letters i write would transform into perfectly written college admissions essays.
i get so frustrated sometimes, with people who hurt others. as if hurting yourself is something more honorable. but neither is. i know this. but i never feel it.