.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
seasons and stateson a walk to Georgia, onceCalifornia skin ripened by summer, sunsugar dreamsdripping through teeth and running down her chinshe smiled, and the world fell hard before the winter
to Lot's wifedo not ever apologize for being anythingbut what you are: humanall of us beautiful tragedies, nameless beastswho would love only so much as to see throughour own destructionand what god would be foolish enough to think you to be any different?a pillar of diamonds dancing in the blazing plains,dying to leave a mark
letter to a little me1. these are the anniversaries that will stay with you,for better or worse:september twelfthjanuary twenty-fifthaugust fourteenthdecember twentieththings go up in december, as if the coming of a new yeargives the old one a kick in the pants.look forward to decembers.time likes to tie weights to your collarbones with silk ribbons.right now i am two years into a subdued grief,five years into a wild regret. but don't be scared;just as many feathers balance out the iron.i am three years into something trulywonderful.2. you will get better. the words on the page will eventually come a bit closer to the pictures in your head.by the way, you think in pictures--you don't see that now,but look for it. use it to your advantage.stop with the heavy moralizing. you try too hard.you will abandon false modesty and snobbishness,as you will find out that they are not attractive qualities.you will, however, trade them in for navelgazingand perhaps a bit of haughtiness and pre
a brief love poemyou are everything-the lilt in the voiceof the songbird,the pillow beneath my head.you are the nightsi can't sleepand when dawn comesi still smile.
Fantastic Feature Tuesday #57Please this news article so it will reach a larger audience!This is a weekly feature of amazing literature that I come by during my travels across deviantART. This is only a small sample of a vast amount of wonderful pieces of literature written by absolutely fantastic writers.Sorry for the ugly formatting. Sta.sh hates me today actually it hates me every daysomeone should get on thatshe’s in search of gold,but hasn’t checked one area,the place in which all of her beauty is,the safe-haven that no one can touchpaint them as they arebecause fear is something you can surmountwhen the blackness of night is unconquerable if the world broke your heartor you broke your owni will take you,with your mismatched flesh,hiccuping heart,and empty stomachWhos
to be a writerjump into the world headfirstcrack open your skull on the oceansink like a forgotten shipwreck in the belly of a herman whalecome up for airstumble across the words of the story-- tell it againlie to a loved one, a stranger, both of themget away with it in a stolen limousinewrite lists that you will never completehang them like goodbyes from anywhere they will stickfall in love like a wrecking ball, destroy a whole city (pretend to)have your ernest heart ridden with bulletholes, alone on a timber hillsidefind god, realize he is just as lost as the rest of usgive him a kurt laugh and look elsewheregrow an ego with hooves & horns & three eyeballsfeed it four times a day, sacrifice your childrencut yourself open and bleed, intestine and sentiment in sulfuric puddlesif not by your own hand, find someone who will do it for youdo not clean it upcreate storybook characters, or at least a story for them to be incompare everything to the biblepick your teeth with similesclo