i will hide here.

darling, if you knew.

//

you said it didn’t matter

he was my friend before you came into the picture

darling, if you knew.

you said you and i, we weren’t really together

so i could do whatever i wanted, you called me “doll”

darling, if you knew.

on the phone last night

i told a boy in florida i would drop everything for him;

i had known that since i locked eyes with him at 16.

that didn’t mean that our everything would be good

it just meant that i would always fight for it.

then after wine and your best friend’s favorite movie tonight

we smoked cigarettes on the porch,

and i told him why i feel like a shitty person.

"it’s an asshole move to be trying to date someone when you like their best friend,"

and he just said, “it’s an asshole move to be drinking and watching movies with the girl your best friend is into.”

we left it at that, talking about red flags.

i am one big red flag. 

i dyed my hair red and i prayed you’d see what i see

but you want me to dye my hair back brown

(or blonde, you said, when you tucked my hair behind my ear)

you said any color but this.

cause you’re not a boy who wants a 

red

red

red flag

but i don’t know how to be anything but a

red

red

red flag.

//

darling, every molecule in me wants your breath

but i don’t want your spirit and i don’t want your soul

i don’t want your heart

and i don’t want you to see my spirit and my soul and my heart

i want you to see me in glimpses

like something behind a flittering white veil

a flash of skin

a flash of bone

one big blurry image behind it all.

you seem to be sitting and waiting

but i already unlocked the window,

"i give it six months," a boy told me at work.

so the real question is

do i jump now 

with no arms to carry me when i hit the pavement at the bottom?

or do i keep letting this veil flutter

until your heart can’t take it

and you stand to move the curtain?

(please, do not stand, please do not stand.

darling, if you knew, 

oh darling if you knew.)

//

in the morning i pray this will all be clearer.

i think we all do that, after 12 on sunday nights

but now it’s not just me praying.

a sick triangle.

darling, darling, if you knew.

and now two out of three of us do.

in my head

i walk outside of my coffee shop job

i light a rolled cigarette by the recycling bin.

i feel like i am going to cry because

of a thousand nameless reasons.

all of the nameless reasons have been inside me ever since i realized

it is selfish to stand up for myself.

an idea planted

by the devils who raised me. 

i feel a hand reach and touch my head,

somewhere deep inside of me a voice says,

"honey, it will be okay."

it is a mother’s voice

but it is my voice.

because long ago i figured out

sometimes, if you want a good mother (or lover, or friend)

you have to be your own mother (or lover, or friend).

//

the mother in me

drives my body home, cooks my body a sandwich

even though i am too stressed to hold the sandwich down.

the mother in me

strokes my hair when i vomit into the toilet 

the mother in me

is present when i am crying 

the mother in me

is the one who knows the names of all of my thousand reasons to cry

she calls them out like an elementary school teacher calling attendance

one by one they stand up

one by one she sends them out the door.

the holy spirit inside of me

filling me with the wisdom and grace of a woman i never got to meet

filling me with authority 

//

so i stand up

by the recycling bin

outside of my coffee shop job.

i brush ash off my leggings

i decide to not call out of my second job.

i decide i will go in and tell them what i have needed to say for a month now.

because it is not selfish, it is not selfish

it is not selfish to stand up for myself.

too scared and passive to quit my job, so i called out today and now im drinking wine and watching new girl.

story of my freaking life.

drunk tumblr-ing

holy week against

my lingerie

and the way i position myself against your body.

holy week against

two bottles of wine

and four lit candles around white petaled flowers.

//

two rituals against each other

like old rivals.

which one of these

is the manna?

which one of these

is the milk and honey?

is it when you dip your hands in holy water

you touch your chest, your head,

you recite age old words in a crowded room with a tall ceiling

and you bow your head.

or is it when

i lay beside you

i touch your chest, your head

i recite new words in this empty apartment with a short ceiling

and you lift your head.

//

i can’t tell you which one is truer

i can only listen when you explain that it’s holy week,

so we need to wait a little while.

i can’t yet tell you,

that i know which is truer.

i can’t let the secret out:

your skin tastes like milk and honey.

when you kiss me, i rain down manna on the inside

all of the pieces of me that were starving

eat their fill of heaven’s bread.

//

so this weekend when you anoint your head

because God is not dead

i will smile because i know He never was.

i will smile because i found the land of milk and honey ,

after all these years.

who knew all it took 

was a kiss?

Apr 16th at 1AM / reblog / 1 note

I cooked for someone else and wore a pretty dress
Another boy will buy me pizza tomorrow
You’re not coming over tonight
I think you’re mad because
I’m sleep deprived and shutting off
I’m trying so hard to keep the switch on
To keep an extra cup of coffee brewing
But I keep falling asleep instead
Cause I work too much
Can’t quit one of my jobs because I feel like I am working under some other version of my mother

All of these things are below the surface screaming
Like sharks in the water
You see me from your boat
And you wave.

Great white shark
I love your best friend
And he loves a girl whose better than I am
But he thinks you’re the catch anyway

Hammerhead
I keep beating myself up
Because I know that I should just do my best
But I am scared to give it to anyone
I’m scared to sing you my songs.
I tried to explain god and how I used to see him but you didn’t get it
Today I talked to your best friend about virginity and something else

He is the boy who is pure and golden
On fire. I see gold rise to the surface
He smells like the deodorant I gave him
We recoil from touch.

You are the boy who tastes like camel cigarettes and wears blue t shirts
You are sturdy
We do not recoil

But I keep falling asleep
Falling away
I feel the walls, my hands begging for the light switch
The breaker went out
It’s dark in here
I am afraid.

You see me on the surface of this water
And you wave.

Apr 10th at 7PM / tagged: e. / reblog

I don’t like this feeling, right now, to be honest.
I spend half the day not liking this feeling. Inky. Someone else controls my brain. I think about the past.

I spend the other half giddy and wanting to love on you and smoke cigarettes with you and talk about whatever comes up.

I crack the front door
You step in.

You fumble through this house,
Hands on walls searching for light switches
And I hear your feet march up the stairs.
You find my glass knob bedroom door
And you knock
And you wait
“Not yet,” I say
And you say, “alright.”

Three days later
The crack
The light switch
The footsteps upstairs
Glass knob door
And you knock
And you knock
“Not yet,” I say, and explain my misgivings
And you say, “okay.”

Three more days.
Crack. Footsteps. Door.
And you knock and you knock and you knock.
You are bored of the game
You know what it inside this door
You know what you want,
And it is not this house. It’s just this room.
So I say, “come back in one week.”
And you are delighted.

One week is enough time, I decide,
To fasten a rope to escape down this window
To leave a corpse in my bed,
Lifeless,
For him to love.

One week is enough time to fill my head with something else
Because I was wrong to think
Any of you
Could be any different
From who passed through before.

Apr 6th at 9AM / reblog / 1 note
swagtron4000:

sorry sir, we don’t have the facilities for a cat scan, but we can certainly get you a lab report

View in High Quality →

swagtron4000:

sorry sir, we don’t have the facilities for a cat scan, but we can certainly get you a lab report

(Source: bobasprite)

Mar 19th at 2PM / via: thepinesaretwerkin / op: bobasprite / reblog / 188,427 notes

tinypantsbishounen:

*stirs coffee with a lit cigarette and then drops it in* have you ever heard of the smiths

Mar 18th at 11AM / via: goldenbeards / op: tinypantsbishounen / reblog / 31,083 notes

We remain

When I was around 5, I remember my best friend crying in front of me, and I didn’t know how to comfort her so I sat on a prickly comb and said “OWWW!!” And she laughed so hard she forgot she was crying.


When I was 13, and I was walking through a neighborhood at night with my best friend, she told me about being scared of the dark and teared up. I yelled curse words into the darkness in my most threatening 13 year old girl voice, and she laughed until she forgot she was crying.


When I was 21, my best friend called me and cried about how she was tired of everyone thinking she was a slut for having sex with whom she wanted. I said, “yeah, but do you know how many dicks have been in my mouth? I’m the super slut here, I’m gonna outshine all you bitches,” and she laughed until she forgot she was crying.

When I go to The Lord
With all my broken stories
And offer them up like pennies in a jar,
I believe he will shake the jar.
He will make music with what I picked up with dirty hands.
And I will laugh
Until I forget I was crying

today i slapped a boy across the face and tried to run away, but he pulled me so hard by the back of my coat that i fell down. he then lifted me up off the ground by my throat.

i have never wanted to make out with someone so bad, and thaaaat is why i am the worst person that you know.

you are allowed to be a black hole.

you are allowed to be a meteor.

you are allowed to smash yourself against the earth.

you who are infinite,

you who have been confined; 

you are allowed a way out.

you are allowed to break all of your favorite plates.

you are allowed to burn all of his old letters.

you are allowed to stomp both of your feet.

you who have been told all of your life,

"you’re too much,"

to the point that you have felt, you are not enough.

you are allowed to let blood drip down your face

you are allowed to let dirt under your nails

you are allowed to let callouses overtake your feet.

you are allowed to burn.

you are allowed to let your head slip underwater,

and hold your breath.

.

if you do not navigate around your darkness,

when dark times come, you will get lost in them.

call your darkness by it’s name.

by your name.

curl your fingers around it.

it doesn’t own you anymore.

someone posted a “which of jesus’ disciples are you?” thing on tumblr and i took it, and i got judas and nothing has ever described my current spirituality more accurately

//

edit: not that i hate god 

the older i get, the less i understand anything

about God, the devil, the angels.

cause

when i was little

the devil was a white man in boxers with pink hearts all over them

and 

the angels were always in the corner of my eyes

and

God was the friend who appeared in my room at night, in a beam of light.

but now

the devil is every white man in navy briefs in my bed

and 

the angels are somewhere far away

and

i can’t remember the last time 

God was in my room.

i keep falling for ten different versions of you

even though you never loved me, anyway.