"And the world went silent..."
my name is my own. if you know me, then there is no need to say it. please understand i write my thoughts here, and my public life must be left in the dark.

i say what i want,
feel what i want,
be who i want
because i only need my approval at the end of the day.

there are posts i keep and post i take away. they're my words. i do what the fuck i want with them

thirst

lips cracked and dry. 
saliva sticks and clings to tongue and teeth. 
and all the while, her eyes scan left to right for a drink,
something to quench her thirst.

but it can’t just be any drink. it has to be thee drink. this one must be chilled and large in her hands. it must have curves in all the right areas for her grip to hold. it must be delicious but organic, real, nothing with too many chemicals. also, it must pop on her lips. sweetness only goes so far. she needs a fizzle in her life. a fizzle that makes her eyes water and wonder why she sipped it as the fizzles tingle her nose. this drink should also have a little alcohol too. what’s better than acting upon and doing things in stupor? doing them to try and blur what’s really in front of you! she likes how it taste, but she likes what it makes her forget even more. and shouldn’t a good drink do that? this drink must also grant her eternal life like a greek goddess’ ambrosia so she can sit on mt. olympus and look down upon all the rest, because who doesn’t want to be worshiped? or feared? this drink should listen to the trials of a rough monday, show up with chocolates and roses unexpectedly, and when kissed, transform into a prince that will whisk her away, somewhere, anywhere but here, because she can’t escape the mess she’s made right here, because that mess is not something that can be swept under a rug. it’s something that must be erased from the mind. 

a drink. a panacea. nectar for the gods.
and even though she knows this drink isn’t all those things, she still clutches him in her hands and hopes. with every sip she’ll wonder, did it fizzle just a little? just now?

and she’ll drink and drink until lips are shriveled from moisture.
until tongue is gagging, gasping for air.
she’ll sip and taste nothing at all. 
a thirst unquenchable. 

—-

"you can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature."

and if she doesn’t belong in the first two categories, definitely make her into literature. some girls just look better in letters than they ever did in reality. 

buttonpoetry:

Bianca Phipps - “Almosts” (CUPSI 2014)

"Words can only help you if you speak them. I never told you that I loved you. You never told me you were dying."

Performing for the University of Northern Colorado at the 2014 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational.

Im hooked to the visions in their eyes, the steadiness of their voices, the syllables flowing from their lips while they expose the memories tied to them.

They’re never really looking into the crowd. They’re looking into the past.

buttonpoetry:

Melissa May - “Dear Ursula” (WoWPS 2014)

"You, big lady, were the only Disney character who ever looked like me. And while you may not have had the waist line of a princess, I’ll be goddamned if you didn’t have the swagger of a queen."

Performing during prelims at the 2014 Women of the World Poetry Slam. Melissa placed 7th overall in the tournament.

Confidence is the only beauty.

missrebelious1:

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Almost time to buy my wrx.

missrebelious1:

Follow my blog for more great pics!

Almost time to buy my wrx.

It’s a simple question.

When you think of me, are you reminded more of what we had, what we lost, or what we should’ve been?

—-
It’s amazing too see old songs still clinging to certain memories.

Even after i forgot, they remember.

fuck shit fuck.

i was writing and my computer restarted. 

go fuck yourself. 

(Source: getasword.com)

when a writer puts down his words

i could blame it on growing up.
the urge to shave stubble and swallow breakfast triumphed over the morning write while dreams were still fresh, while still caught in the sweet streams of sleep. 

i could blame it on the pulls and tugs on creativity.
what once was considering an endless waterfall of words is now but a trickle. maybe i sipped too swiftly, too quickly. drinking away words and spending them on youthful flames. did i snip and cut my giving tree too soon? too hastily? 

i could blame it on the new outlet.
words are meant to be shared, to be felt, to help a battered mind weather the toughest of storms, and to show what we feel-what we are too afraid to speak let alone allow to see the light of day- is a feeling others have felt and have rose above. and why write words when i can show them, when they can see the tone and the vigor and the beauty of hearing soft syllables. i will admit: every class feels like a new audience, a new show, and i will give them their money’s worth, their education’s worth.  my own spoken word stage.

but nevertheless, it’s not any of these. no, no, no. 

a writer lives a troubled life, able to captivate the sorrows of solitude and the rush with a connection of eyes—a chance encounter with a stranger and a smile. to see a gaze and a smile does wonders to the mind. if only you could say hello, if only you could say “i was running errands but i forgot them all when i saw you.” oh to let you curiosity blend with creativity and dream about future days! a writer sees the beauty in the sun while drenched in a storm and clouds high above. 

a writer sees it all because that writer is detached from it all like pressed against a glass they cant break. close enough to see, close enough to touch, yet still stuck behind that glass. unseen and unheard. 

and even though it exist through all letters and behind every meaning, writers are at their best when not in love…

unfortunately for my writing, i am. 
and no longer need words.

—-

it’s been ages. 
it’s not the same. 
it will never leave me, but i dont write about the same things anymore. 
if you know me and know my writing, you know that was such a tremendous part of my creativity. 

and somehow, it all feels okay to let it slip away. 

until next time. 

and soon the rise

the rise will come soon.

khandoitnow:

The Creation of Red Lobster Cheddar BiscuitsSo, I found this image on tumblr with the most simple instruction for cheddar biscuits. It was…View Post

Must. Make. Biscuits.

khandoitnow:

The Creation of Red Lobster Cheddar Biscuits

So, I found this image on tumblr with the most simple instruction for cheddar biscuits. It was…

View Post

Must. Make. Biscuits.