i’m trying to think about how to write about anger
and i’m coming up short
maybe later the poignant words
will meet me
where i am and point me
where i ought to go

anger oughtn’t be stored
a thoughtful man told me
it does not keep well
it envelops like vines
over time engulfing buildings
except it isn’t beautiful
it isn’t beautiful

i have a tender heart
a tendency of making everything beautiful
maybe later, what anger will tell me
is stop

One Sunday Morning, I found her in a bathtub full of milk, surrounded by little pink rose petals. Her brown mascara running down flushed cheeks. I asked her what in the hell she was doing and she gave me the sweetest little smile before saying ‘the sadness was beginning to thin my bones.’ I called my mom, desperately asked her what do do. She told me to take her to the hospital. I couldn’t though. I just fucking couldn’t. So I wrapped her in her favorite light blue towel instead. Held her tight. Kissed her hair. Breathed her in. Ask her what was wrong, and when she said nothing, told her I loved her. Eighteen times. Eighteen goddamn times. Brought her to my car. Opened all of the windows. Pointed out the different shades of orange and violet in the sky [it was only 4AM.] And once she began turning drowsy, stopped at the grocery store and let her sit in the cart. Bought her two bags of clementines and five cartons of strawberries.

Once we got home I opened up the China cabinet and took out one of my grandmothers favorite pieces before letting it shatter directly in front of her feet. And when she looked up at me wide eyed, completely stunned, I fell to the floor sobbing at her feet. Draped my arms around her legs. Told her that I didn’t want for that to be her, that I couldn’t let that become her. And when she knelt down to cradle me, I let the tremors slow before kissing her kneecaps gently and confessing to her that I needed her, too.

That night she brought home my favorite brand of rainbow sherbet ice cream and laid with me as I stared at the ceiling fan. Ran her fingers through my hair, down my chest, along my face. And when the cold sweats came, she listened intently to my shaky, broken murmurs and kissed my nose. She was the first girl to ever teach me that our sadness is not beautiful, but instead desperate, filthy and vile. BUT LOVE? I don’t care what you say or how corny it sounds, love is fucking heart wrenchingly beautiful. And truth be told, no one can fix you. No one will come along and bandage up your goddamn broken soul and make it new again. But someone who truly loves you, can always hold your hand whilst you save yourself. That was the most important lesson anyone ever taught me and I loved her for it, I really did.

Abbie Nielsen, On Loving Someone Who is Just Sad (via elderberryhoney)

(Source: passionandcoffeestains)

Sneak Peek: Spring 2014 Cover



Don’t depend on tomorrow… ..because tomorrow can sometimes let you down
Don’t depend on tomorrow… ..because tomorrow can sometimes let you down

It all piles up
Like dirty laundry
A heavy day upon another
A day, a night, a morning brings
A weight too thick some days
To see beyond

I’ll see beyond
I have before

i’m just done with today

if you won’t love me
you’ll love my words
you’ll read them and love them
you’ll read them and want more
you’ll read them and feel them
you’ll read them and feel me
and that will be

i just wish he was sorry.

your silence is like my window
which is old and lets in the draft
of the winter’s cold in this early spring
it’s supposed to be warmer than this
but it isn’t
and there’s no one to rectify this

if i could speak
everything i wanted to speak
i would speak many more curses
but i’d say not much more