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Anonymous asked: Your writing is beautiful. What do you like to read?

magical realism and e.e cummings and anything else that feels good.

Keep on coming to the hills.
Please, you’re making me smile
and I love the way that you clash
with their wall paper.

I know my voice is muffled by the construction in my soul:
those drills and cranes run by sweaty men in hardhats.

Us two, we don’t wear hardhats.
We don’t wear our helmets and we don’t know
the road but lord,

it feels nice to speed down the highway like an apple falling so far from the tree that it forgets what it felt like to hang and it remembers birth as a free-fall and thinks that its been falling forever and probably it will never stop.

Probably, the bubbles in its bones will never pop.

So let’s float. Let us float.

I find recovery in thunderstorms and afternoon exams:
with blades with bud with farm house dreams.

I mourn the deaths of skinnier versions of myself
who felt free in the rain:

stubby nails and knees like
sanddunes I climbed in search of the treasure I know must be buried in you
you you you you

You, who fucks among wild flowers and gathers leaves
from the park at dark
and at dark you feel hot and soft like electric blankets

you sat down on a sofa that was actually an electric chair
and now, every morning you rise up like jesus
and like a wet dog, you shake off your dreams
and your dreams form puddles by your night stand.

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I have gotten ahead of myself.
We are different links of the same chain:

paper people joint at the hands, pinned to a wall and made to represent unity.

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I am in love with no one in particular.
Her belly. His chest.

There are dimensions in which my right hand is all I am
and all I am is a cat in the spring time:

shedding.

but I can’t forget what he said

!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!
!!!!!
!!!
!

wakeupanxiety:

The sunrise inspires a crisp new day to christen itself. I can hear tiny arguments that are little chirps after chirps tossed among the trees. I think that anything that makes as much noise as my cereal must be alive. Isn’t waking up exiting?!

Photograph your artwork, photograph yourself, make money, make pancakes, make jewelry, make huge paintings, make art in the dirt, make a short film, make a portfolio, ride bikes, ride the wonderwheel, ride the cyclone, ride shotgun, get A’s, get ass, get dirty, get high, build friendships, build sandcastles, build technical skills, feel better, feel confident, feel loved, feel free, share your creations, share your thoughts, move to a new apartment, grow out your hair, grow plants, meet new people, meet someone divine, play with your dog, play basketball, play sims3, play tag, dig holes, go to the flea market, go to bed early, go to bed late, go to good will, go to the island, drink milkshakes, drink 40’s, drink root beer floats, drink tea, drink slushies, take bubble baths, take your time, take what you need, take yoga, take naps, touch your toes, touch yourself, touch boobies, give compliments, pick scabs, pick yourself up, climb trees, visit the botanical gardens, visit museums, write poetry, write stories, write letters, find new poets, find new artists, find new spots in the park, decorate your room, buy cds, buy books, run fast, rock climb, rock out, eat nachos, eat well, eat fruit, walk on tight ropes, walk late at night, walk early in the morning, wake up early, wake up late, collect insects, collect rocks, collect compliments.

Anonymous asked: Describe some people that interest you, either real or fictitious. Also, your poetry is marvelous. Keep on writing, you have a gift.

I don’t think that there’s anyone who doesn’t interest me. And thanks, you’re a sweetheart.

in bruises and in kitchen sinks. I come to school
in the verysame skin that you loved so stiffly.

I fold myself into a boat boarded by your ego and your ego is heavier even than my backpack so i poke holes in your pride so that your soul can breath
————————————————————NOW

I rip off bandaids in english class when the rain drums and the river loves the gray and

(gazing into deep red scrapes i built myself like manmade lakes)

I’m happy here in tuesday’s womb.

free and focused I am a heart speeding down the thruway at night and my sister is asleep and dreaming of what it was like to feel love on the back of her neck like the sun when we were all babies and my father is stoned and driving and sighing and sighing and sometimes he looks back at me because we’re the only two people awake in the world and I wonder if he needs me and if he does then why doesn’t he ever get what he needs?

Anonymous asked: Everything that you make is glorious. Thank you for existing.

thank you for affirming my existence.