shakysmiles:

"it’s all just moving shapes and changing colors."

"what is?"

"moving shapes and changing colors. that’s all anything is."

but you’re sitting at my parents’ kitchen table, picking apart a piece of leftover yellow birthday cake with your fingers. your red shirt, faded rosy, looks as if it is made of the same stuff as the morning sun that’s enveloping you.

you are phosphorescent. i am leaning against the fridge, allowing the coolness to seep through me. if i stepped into the patch of light, if i touched your glowing cheek, would i still be like this? but i stay put, picking at my gold nail polish, watching the flakes fall to the floor. fools gold. you moved across the country for something that wasn’t real. 

i want to ask you about solipsism, dualism, and nihilism, but i know it’s too early. i don’t want you to leave-my biggest fear that it’s contagious, that my tendencies might rub off on you.

what if you took to vacating your head for days at a time and i was the one who had to tether you down with twisted up bedsheets, too-tight hand squeezes, and fumbling utterances of reassurance. 

what if ice crystals clouded your eyes and what if you stopped answering my texts and had to quit kissing me three minutes in because you thought you might cry. 

"i don’t want you to leave."

"why would i leave?" 

"i don’t know."

dating requires a temporary suspension of disbelief. the patch of light has grown long into a parallelogram and i am trying to be just the right amount of afraid. 

-ss

i am not a product
of my environment

not a product of my
insecurities

not a product of my
failures

not a product of my
background

not a product of my
defects, my
regrets, my
rejections

i am not a product
period

i am in flux
in a state
of no one state

i am flowing
forward

wintertangerinereview:

Volume Three is WTR’s most explosive edition yet! This volume includes work from Jeanann Verlee, June Tang, J. Bradley, Kyle McCord, Liz Robbins, Joe Kapitan, Duarte Vitoria and so many more incredible poets, short story writers and artists. Imagine V3 as a pistol pointed at you by someone you loved, as an exploration into humanity, into how we affect each other, how we love one another. In terms of poetry, Jackson Trice’s work revolves around love as tender as an open wound, while Jason Primm’s work describes childhood and family with incredible subtly, with incredible softness, like the tremors of an earthquake. In Gabriella Gonzales’ work , love is violent, it’s obsessive, parasitic, growing and manifesting, boiling over, but still so painfully red and raw. The short stories in V3 delves into family, into the incredible bond between siblings, between mother and daughter, between what is foreign and what is home. In “On Pluto, Eating Starfish”, a young woman tries to make sense of a world which has given her a hospitalized mother, a distant step-father and a younger brother experimenting with blueberries, octopuses and the concept of regeneration. “Daily Bread” paints the unbearably poignant portrait of a desperate mother bearing the responsibility of two hungry children. Finally the art in V3 completely blows our minds. From oil paintings, to art installments, to sculptures, to fantastically detailed drawings created of just pencil and paper, WTR has truly published exhilarating, emotionally puling pieces of contemporary art that exists not just in it’s own universe, but in the space before a line break, the moment before a character decides on divorce. In Volume Three, WTR has captured the essence of forgiveness, of regret, of whimsy desire, and guttural guilt. V3 explores the love that is supermarket heartbreak, the love that is following the ghosts of drowned brothers, the love that is sitting outside someone’s house waiting, just waiting for them to come out.To pre-order your copy of Volume Three, click here!(Cover art is “Surface” by Ericka Craig, as part of her Water Series, featured in V3 of WTR)




I have a piece in here. [:

wintertangerinereview:

Volume Three is WTR’s most explosive edition yet! This volume includes work from Jeanann Verlee, June Tang, J. Bradley, Kyle McCord, Liz Robbins, Joe Kapitan, Duarte Vitoria and so many more incredible poets, short story writers and artists.

Imagine V3 as a pistol pointed at you by someone you loved, as an exploration into humanity, into how we affect each other, how we love one another. In terms of poetry, Jackson Trice’s work revolves around love as tender as an open wound, while Jason Primm’s work describes childhood and family with incredible subtly, with incredible softness, like the tremors of an earthquake. In Gabriella Gonzales’ work , love is violent, it’s obsessive, parasitic, growing and manifesting, boiling over, but still so painfully red and raw.

The short stories in V3 delves into family, into the incredible bond between siblings, between mother and daughter, between what is foreign and what is home. In “On Pluto, Eating Starfish”, a young woman tries to make sense of a world which has given her a hospitalized mother, a distant step-father and a younger brother experimenting with blueberries, octopuses and the concept of regeneration. “Daily Bread” paints the unbearably poignant portrait of a desperate mother bearing the responsibility of two hungry children.

Finally the art in V3 completely blows our minds. From oil paintings, to art installments, to sculptures, to fantastically detailed drawings created of just pencil and paper, WTR has truly published exhilarating, emotionally puling pieces of contemporary art that exists not just in it’s own universe, but in the space before a line break, the moment before a character decides on divorce. In Volume Three, WTR has captured the essence of forgiveness, of regret, of whimsy desire, and guttural guilt. V3 explores the love that is supermarket heartbreak, the love that is following the ghosts of drowned brothers, the love that is sitting outside someone’s house waiting, just waiting for them to come out.

To pre-order your copy of Volume Three, click here!

(
Cover art is “Surface” by Ericka Craig, as part of her Water Series, featured in V3 of WTR)

I have a piece in here. [:
sarahaliceyoung:

Old Gray

i cannot stand so many things right now.

my father asks me if i’ll need help
moving in my new apartment
i don’t know, maybe,
i don’t know when,
i’ll text him, i tell him
if it’s on a weekend alright
if it isn’t, he can’t take off work,
so i’ll be fine, right

we haven’t spoken in a year
in a God-still-has-not-forsaken-me-though
year
i read the book of Job
when i read the bible
when i read
i read the part where Job, in his anger,
did not sin
even in his anger

my good friend tried to kiss me
even though he has a girlfriend
he’s going to marry one day
he’s going to forget the night
i put my hands on his face, drunk,
my hands, his face, drunk,
and i said no, no, no, i like her,
you love her

the last time i let someone kiss me
he called me the next afternoon
met me at a coffee shop,
talked about the missing piece
that meant we shouldn’t see each other
anymore
it’s been six months, about,
he has a house
and he asked me last night
if i would help him decorate

i do not understand much of anything
do not feel understood
either
just feel
a lot
and wait
for i don’t know

quoteskine:

Same

sometimes my desire to “just write” is outweighed by my desire to not write melodramatic crap

michaelspimp:

REBLOG THIS IF YOU THINK THE PERSON YOU REBLOGGED THIS FROM IS A CUTIE

home

i have looked for it
for twenty-three years
now

i have sought it in poems
and books and films

i have sought it in palms
and mouths and the gentle
curves of men’s necks

the subtle rise of a
sleeping man’s chest
the quiet simmer of
his breath

i touched it once,
or at the least
i thought i did

it left no mark on my finger
and i cannot feel it anymore

i have written about it
i have sung about it
i have felt exhausted
and ached at the thought of it

i have tired of trying
to make it out it in the eyes
of handsome strangers

and i have tired of trying
to mold it out of scattered bits
of unrequited affection

and while my journey’s far from done
i have come to this conclusion:

that when my journey is done
and i find it, and i’m there

i will make my home sweet
by my damn self