writesofspring

[writesofspring]

consign to oblivion

there are holes in your backpack again for the men that took a stab and the intercom says your life was a waste because your mother lost it when she had you ‘cause no knight kicked your legs from out under and screamed that the darkness shouldn’t be a surprise so you hold your head so high it almost breaks your neck

as if you were ever that lucky.

[writesofspring]

deadbeat and dormant

leave the losers to sucking out

their own souls with cigarette paper and

a broken beer bottle poised at the ready

to do more damage than what the first blow secured

[writesofspring]

drink her tears. tell the king his work is done but never finished. the best is worst to someone else, the least is next in line for a crown and the prince only wants what he thinks is the world. substantial but with a footnote quoting unsubstantiated claims on happiness run to pleads of a livable life and leave greed with the guards betting your head. let the bastards’ rusted hearts wilt even more in comparison to their armor and shed the medals that weigh you down appearance stains your soul

[writesofspring]

faithless and floundered

leave it to the angels,

casting themselves off cliffs into a desert their dad said was two cities deep with water

hitting the sand in pitiful ten-foot heaps

that began to take the shape of their cloaked bodies

50 feet ~ 2 seconds away from impact.

an inglorious mess of heavenly bodies

stacked like tires

worth one penny less than a halfpence.

(those trusting blanched boneheads) wouldnt know they were the target it you told them to hold an apple over their heart

but those unborn bastards always were.

leave it to the angels 

to get themselves killed again

and forget the source that whispered the original lie

[writesofspring]

browbeating for the cowardly and heavenly

stupid little girl

you tried to win the world

with your bottle cap flipping

and chewed up toothpick that never touched honest lips

and the dirt under fingers that hadnt touched earth

before you had the dove smoke eve's garden.

plastic flowers and lightbulbs 

wilt at your closeness

scorched earth for miles before you reach it

and though nothing haunts you

every bastard wants a piece of that alienation

[writesofspring]

time doesnt wipe out the past it only plants the memories on a high shelf of toys and old love letters you never sent reachable only with the strain on your muscles and ache of your back. you dont want to reach for something that's already been put above your natural reach. leave  it behind because what you think is going to crush you every day will be the boom of clarity in one year and twenty days once you realize it isnt as important as the tears that you cried made you believe. ❑ 8_18_14

daily mail ❐ radiohead

[writesofspring]

Don’t wait. Writers are the only artists I know of who expect to get somewhere by waiting. Everyone knows you have to dance to be a dancer, you have to sing to be a singer, you have to act to be an actor, but far too many people seem to believe that you. don’t have to write to be a writer. So, instead of writing, they wait. Isaac Asimov said it beautifully in just six words: “It’s the writing that teaches you.” Writing is what teaches you. Writing is what leads to “inspiration.” Writing is what generates ideas. Nothing else-and nothing less. Don’t meditate, don’t do yoga, don’t do drugs. Just write.

DANIEL QUINN (via booksandpublishing)

REBLOGGING TIMES TEN!

(via ellenkushner)

[writesofspring]

The 100 Most Beautiful Words in English

[writesofspring]

I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here

Charles Bukowski (via purplebuddhaproject)

[writesofspring]

1. When a boy who leaves goosebumps on every inch of your skin tries to play you his favorite song, don’t let him. He’ll get it stuck in your head and under your fingertips and when he leaves, you won’t be able to listen to it without feeling like you’re choking. 2. Don’t let him touch you all over no matter how much you want to feel him against you. Leave a few spots untouched so that when you’re sleeping alone again, at least your left wrist and an inch of your right hip won’t sting with the remaining burn of his mouth. 3. Don’t let him break your ribs. 4. Don’t watch the sunset with him. He’ll poison it. You won’t be able to look at the sky without swallowing a mouthful of him. 5. Don’t mistake wasps for butterflies. Sometimes when you feel your stomach flutter and your hands start to shake it’s pain, not love. 6. Just because he tells you he loves you doesn’t mean he’s going to stay. 7. It’s okay to delete his number after he kisses the pretty girl he met when he was drunk. It’s okay to leave when he hurts you. You don’t have to keep falling into him. 8. When he tells you that you’re beautiful, try to remember that you were beautiful before him too. 9. Just because he reads and smokes cigarettes and talks about the stars doesn’t mean he’s your soulmate. 10. After you kiss him, remember to wash your mouth out right away so he doesn’t burn into your tongue. 11. He’ll kiss you in the rain and take you to little coffee shops. He’ll brush your hair out of your eyes and kiss your nose. He’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him and he won’t respond. 12. Your heart is going to break a million times. It’s going to feel like the world is falling apart around you. Your lungs will stop working some nights. You find yourself grabbing at your bones trying to hold yourself together. You’re going to feel like you’re dying. It’s going to be okay. You’ll find someone else to kiss you goodnight.

for future reference (via extrasad)

[writesofspring]

[writesofspring]

[writesofspring]

I hate my body I hate the sun I hate 3 pm I hate the feeling of my clothes sticking to my skin in the shower I hate when my fingers press against another set of hands when collecting change or grabbing a receipt “Thank you have a nice day” I cry in my car in an empty school parking lot and I brush my hair for hours just to know I’m doing something with my time I’ll walk up the same set of stairs over and over again until I lose count because for once it’s nice to know where I’m going It’s funny to say your own name when you forget what it means I’ve had my hair held above broke down toilets and I’ve walked four miles home without any shoes on My hair has been in the same ponytail for days now I hope you don’t mind Why don’t you ever look me in the eye The way you say “I hope you’re okay” makes my throat itch I think poetry is just another way to say “I know I know I know”

[writesofspring]

[writesofspring]

[writesofspring]

[writesofspring]

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Anne Sexton (via adderalldust)