woes prose

this is where i put stuff







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07
25

can’t spell poetry without “fuck you”

I sit in my prom dress
and have a beer on the pool patio
listening to pop punk.
My aesthetic is album covers
images of the life I never got to live
smiling in sepia tones teeth full of
past lovers finger prints.
(no matter how many times I brush mine
I can’t get rid of yours)

People say they drink to forget
but I’m 5 beers in and I’m just starting to remember
and I’m not sure anymore if it’s the alcohol
or the remembering that makes me puke?
Am I lightweight or just a heavy hearted?

Either way my body is not equipped for either.
My knees hurt from taking all those runs in January
I would circle around, hoping to catch you in action
I ran 7 miles a day for 2 weeks until one night
I saw you walking on the brick walls and ever since
I stopped running.

I started walking around my house,
blaring Taylor Swift in my underwear
trying to feel like a broken hearted girl.
If I was unapologetic
maybe you wouldn’t leave me anymore
just to have sex.
And I know she hides under the covers
because she’ll never be sure, she’ll be all yours.

I asked you to bring over Pepto Bismol that one night
but I really just wanted to see you, and you knew it
You said “you really don’t look okay do you need me to stay”.
I took that bottle and run up the fucking stairs with it
right to the bathroom straight into a toilet.

I guess you relieved me in some sort of way that night
of having to pretend that I liked your science fiction
and your shitty taste in poetry .

07
08
aseaofquotes:

Pablo Neruda, “Absence”
07
05

i want to stand on top of tables
violet drunk
and recite sylvia plath 
to a room cornered by walls
and populated by fresh children
that will probably call their mothers tomorrow

i want you to look at me in the face
and not read the subtitles underneath it
like you always do in romance movies

07
02
vintageanchorbooks:

Favorite snacks of the great writers!
06
27

i name poems after the days of the week because i have no other ways to differ time

sadsongqueen:

when i was small i wrote one of those emails
that you send to yourself in the future
but i think i sent it so far in the future
that i’ll probably be dead by then

i think even when i was small
i had heavy hands
which is why i type so loudly on laptops
but when i clench my fists i can show you

06
25

"The tongue, the Chinese say,
is like a sharp knife:
it kills
without drawing blood."

- Anne Sexton, “The Dead Heart.”  (via wordsnquotes)

06
25
lovelyarc:

acehotel:

Portland + Los Angeles
The American poet Norman Dubie says that what gives poetry so much freedom is that no one gets rich off writing it. Passion, and expressive language, drive poems into the world. 
Poetry is unique among artforms because it uses as its medium the building blocks of all communication, and, more or less, the building blocks of thought: language. Poetry uses language to communicate something that is beyond language, which is weird and causes things to be at once both what they are and so very much more than they are. 
At its most minimal, language speaks to us on two levels: it communicates raw info and it communicates contextual feelings and directions about that info. In the 1960s and ’70s, Aram Saroyan was mining this linguistic landscape to much notoriety — and infamy. His poem, “lighght,” exploded the idea of what a poem even is. 
And as the tattoo here illuminates, it’s still exploding ideas right down to the skin. This left hand belongs to another poet, Zachary Schomburg, who writes notes on his hands when he’s not collaborating and touring with musicians and filmmakers and making the sincerest surrealist books since sliced pages. 

Ace Hotel is alrighght with me.
06
25

2048 is running my life
adding all these stupid fucking tiles together
it’s so easy to just swipe them around
I feel like that is what God plays

Or plays hangman from random words in the bible

You can add people together just like these numbers
Except it gets harder and harder with the bigger numbers
There’s diversity to think of and territory and resources
Third world countries and first world countries
Birth rates and death rates

06
23

Period 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

In middle school I though I was cool
because I listened to Fleetwood Mac
and when I walked past boys
I would bounce on my heels so my ponytail
could viciously attack anybody in my path

The walls in my middle school were made out of cardboard
and had doors that you opened by pushing them with your fingers
like the doors in a doll house.

In middle school we stuck our gum under the desks,
in high school you just swallowed it.
We were trying to say Fuck You.

Taylor used to wear special bracelets in middle school
to help her from throwing up every morning.
She had to get MRIs taken.
I remember because she told me and I missed my bus
1017
Now she takes birth control.

The windows would knock me gently in the head
saying “hey are you alive”.

In middle school we had sunglasses with butterfly wings
in high school we had eyes with cat eyes on them

I was friends with the popular kids in middle school,
in high school I was friends with the kids that went to therapists
and got called to the guidance counselors office for
dog scratches and weird dreams and breathing during phone calls.
We forgot our names in high school
and tried to mark territory.

In middle school the kids has sex in bathroom stalls
in high school the kids had sex in the staircases.

But always unapologetic, that’s for sure.

 

 

06
23

i wrote more than 10,000 words in a year holy shit