Constellations and Fairytales -- 15 January 2015

I heard a phrase once:
"You are not a constellation of suicidal symptoms"
Just a person dealt a crappy hand
I'm not the one that can save you
It's your fight
Be your own knight in shining armor
But I promise I'll still be here
Acting as your noble steed
So you never have to be alone.

So I'm An Awful Human Being

I've obviously been slacking on the writing part of my life. Now that I'm done with school, I'll be trying to update more frequently. We'll see if it works.

4 Poems Made From First Lines in 5 Random Songs

My heart is a flower that blooms every hour

I never been on a railroad, as many times as they pass me by

Look at me

Bless my heart, bless my soul

Every boyfriend is the one until otherwise proven

I've been in love with love

I'll sing it one last time for you

I need a little time to see what you're made of

Emotive, unstable, you're like an unwinding cable car

He said I'm going to have a bed with lots of pillows

Baby, baby are you listening?

Are you aware of what you make me feel, baby?

I got to breathe

Shut your eyes and think of somewhere

Don't wake, love, before it's time 

Love the way you look in that dress

You would have loved who I used to be

Flower tongue wilts with too much sun

Started in the morning, my head was getting hazy

So sick of the hobos always begging for change

The Cigarettes of Angels - 19 January 2014

There’s perfection in all the lumps and bumps

And curves and angles of my body,
If only for the fact that they’re mine.
And who are you to tell me that the shelter
Of meat and earth and stars
I temporarily find myself in
Doesn’t do its job of keeping me whole?
I’m not tearing apart at the seams.
I promise you I’m not.
I know I’m made of stardust
I hold the universe in my eyes,
Planets orbit my hands
Comets live in the soft glow of my smile
And shooting stars are seeped into my skin
I am space raspberries and rum
And heavenly choirs
And celestial intent
And cigarettes
For someone told me once that shooting stars
Are really just angels throwing away their cigarettes
Before God could catch them smoking

Paints - 26 October 2013

You stole the blank canvas that was me
Did me up with colors and tears
Then you tore that canvas into two
But I broke my own heart
Because I'd rather be broken
Then put the blame on you

Dark Rooms

Falling in love is like a photography dark room. At first you’re lost, in the dark, scared and disoriented. Then slowly, your eyes adjust and you begin to see things you didn’t before. Things aren’t scary anymore. The smell of the chemicals becomes a part of your skin, just as there can’t be a me without you. But the best part is how everything that scared you can create such beautiful things.

He's Cracker Jacks and Baseball Games on the Radio

He’s cracker jacks and baseball games on the radio. He’s so tone-deaf; he causes confusion when he tries to sing a popular tune. He’s junky old cars whose problems don’t seem to matter as long as they run. He’s watching Disney movies with his daughters and imperfect ponytails after trying so hard. He’s sweaty running shoes and all the clutter around your house and buying packs of gum on sale. He eats all the cookies in the cookie jar and then claims to have only eaten “a couple”. He’s the smell of newsprint and old maps and new maps. He’s the overwhelming need to make sure those he loves will be provided for. He’s the plan for the future and horrible planning skills. He’s outrageous drunken stories from his youth and breaking into zoos. He’s stock markets and the need to always do something. He’s long car rides and only listening to talk radio.

He’s most of the things that embarrass you.

He tries so hard not to be.