last night, I took full advantage of you

ugh

what every single one of you don't GOT

-a cultural advantage
-linguistic diversity
-the confidence to converse openly with strangers
-higher priorities in life, than materialistic possessions
-the love for tasteful music, wine, people
-the ability to be a physically classy human canvas
-a mature respect for women who respect themselves

old

hearing that same statement,
with different faces
over and over again
is getting old

an appreciation for rarity

now i understand,

lemonworld

i would kill to own

blue

you look good in blue,
fitted blue 

 

tonight

"you know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him" 

these memories i will never forget

falling asleep to this song last night

brought me back to this time, two years ago

the warm bolivian midnight air blowing across my face

as we sat on rice sacks in the back of the truck

after a full day of endless chatter in our broken spanish

not saying a word, just taking it all in

these memories i will never forget

 

memories of heartbreak, as children immerged from the sewers they call home, 

bleeding, broken, affectionate, scarred, suspicious, high..

 

the memories of great conversations with a man i'm proud to call friend

 

the memories of a man who fell in love with me

what i would do to be

 

To be great, be whole; exclude
Nothing, exaggerate nothing that is you.
Be whole in everything. Put all you are
Into the smallest thing you do.
The whole moon gleams in every pool.
It rides so high.

Fernando Pessoa

archive

 

i feel like i've grown so much
when i look back on my blog,
through the archive of your blog


you have yet to show me,
you have yet to tell me,
i have yet to know these things of you
your imperfect passions, your poetry, what you want to do before you die..

when the chemicals race back and forth in my mind

we spend our days forming words, writing beautiful letters in our head to no one at all. with the hope that one day we will meet the person who we have been writing to all along, that we will be able to get it down on paper when it really counts

love is substance. lust, an illusion. only in a surge of passion do they mingle in confusion.

you breathe in and out and you exsist, and suddenly everything exsists. you sit in such a way, with such an expression that makes it impossible not to stare.

while i'm at it

and while i'm at it
thank you to a dear friend
for insisting i stop everything
to listen to this song
and through our conversations
helped the voice of matt berninger
grow roots around my ribcage
in the utmost comforting manner

can't thank you enough

i will never be able to thank you enough for introducing me to this song

not that i ever tried, but better late than never

so thank you 

with you, i can never win

 

tell me now
where was my fault
in loving you 
with my whole heart

perfection, pedestals, breaks, illusions and horseshit

 
 

~

Follow these instructions
Do exactly as I do
Lean your shoulders forward
Let your hands slide over to my side
Move your body closer
Let your heart meet mine

Love is the harmony
Desire is the key
Love is the melody
Now sing it with me

Come a little closer
Take a look at me
This light is so obvious
I want you to see
Come a little closer
Look me in the eye
Then repeat with me one more timeYou'll be the rhythm and I'll be the beat
You'll be the rhythm and I'll be the beat
Then I'll be the rhythm and you'll be the beat
And love, the shoreline, where you and I meet 

Love is the harmony
Desire is the key
Love is a symphony
Now play it with me 

sit down. shut up. and listen

looks like i'm reverting back to the old stuff tonight,

all throughout the day i was waiting, waiting..endlessly waiting for it

for the snap, for my breaking point, for something ... anything

but i was met with disappointment time and time again.

reaction-less 

 

i hope tomorrow 

will be kinder 

let me occupy your mind, as you do mine

“They have the unique ability to listen to one story and understand another.” 

- Pandora Poikilos, Excuse me, My brains have stepped out

sad times,

"gone are the days when girls used to cook like their mothers

now are the days where they drink like their fathers"

what it is that i need

                                     

1. at least twenty minutes of exercise
2. a good dose of sunshine and fresh air
3. to write something for myself
4. to write something for an audience
5. a solid conversation with someone i love
6. fresh vegetables
7. eight glasses of water
8. to make something with my hands
9. and to have some physical contact with another person

 

i absolutely feel like i just got told precisely what it is that i need

sometimes it takes a complete stranger to make an impression, (stronger than constant societal bombarding that i tend to ignore) through the internet

it's time to step out from from my mental world, in which i've intentionally immersed  myself these recent couple of days

and complete this list above.

a stroke of luck with that tea, ma'am?

 

i feel like i've finally gotten the last hypocritical streak out of me

once and for all,

and i'm not entirely sure how i feel about it

or how my body feels about it

 

you you you

Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.

Karen Marie Moning

searching

if you take a moment, to step back from our self-absorbed perspectives

you'll find, that we're all searching for the same thing

for that sweet spot

that moment in time where we can just stop

and bask in the peace and utter contentment of that very moment in time

and spend the rest of our time, chasing after the temporary causes of these moments

 

i walk on

 

i'm a creature of simplicity

who wants nothing more

than to love and be loved

DWNTWN

i think tonight i'm going to just wing it,

we'll see where i end up

why don't you love me

in the quiet

  

my hobby became watching the goosebumps chase after my fingertips across your skin

two weeks

had you awoken next to me this morning, it would have gone a little something like this :

"stop. don't move. keep your eyes closed. what do you feel?"

"my amazing duvet"

"that too, but think a little harder. beyond this bed. do you feel it? it's spring, it's on it's way, i can feel it."

"you can feel it without even opening your eyes?"

"i felt it long before i awoke; in my dreams"

 

Mourning & Melancholia (1917)

     "Reality-testing has shown that the loved object no longer exists, and it proceeds to demand that all libido shall be withdrawn from its attachments to that object. This demand arouses understandable opposition—it is a matter of general observation that people never willingly abandon a libidinal position, not even, indeed, when a substitute is already beckoning to them. This opposition can be so intense that a turning away from reality takes place and a clinging to the object through the medium of a hallucinatory wishful psychosis. Normally, respect for reality gains the day. Nevertheless its orders cannot be obeyed at once. They are carried out bit by bit, at great expense of time and cathectic energy, and in the meantime the existence of the lost object is psychically prolonged. Each single one of the memories and expectations in which the libido is bound to the object is brought up and hyper-cathected, and detachment of the libido is accomplished in respect of it. Why this compromise by which the command of reality is carried out piecemeal should be so extraordinarily painful is not at all easy to explain in terms of economics. It is remarkable that this painful unpleasure is taken as a matter of course by us. The fact is, however, that when the work of mourning is completed the ego becomes free and uninhibited again.
     Let us now apply to melancholia what we have learnt about mourning. In one set of cases it is evident that melancholia too may be the reaction to the loss of a loved object. Where the exciting causes are different one can recognize that there is a loss of a more ideal kind. The object has not perhaps actually died, but has been lost as an object of love (e.g. in the case of a betrothed girl who has been jilted). In yet other cases one feels justified in maintaining the belief that a loss of this kind has occurred, but one cannot see clearly what it is that has been lost, and it is all the more reasonable to suppose that the patient cannot consciously perceive what he has lost either. This, indeed, might be so even if the patient is aware of the loss which has given rise to his melancholia, but only in the sense that he knows whom he has lost but not what he has lost in him."

- Sigmund Freud 

maturity

is my cleverly crafted weapon of choice. 

without a doubt

 

i think about you every single day

absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt

love ain't safe

let me in

where only your thoughts have been

let me occupy your mind

as you do mine

you have lost too much love

to fear, doubt and distrust

you don't get burned

cause nothing gets through

it makes it easier on you

but that much more difficult on me

your hearts a mess

you won't admit to it

and you can't live like this

you know you can't live like this
 

my love

my love,

i simply want respect

regardless of whether i deserve it or not,

goosebumps

although my hands are literally shaking, i'm so nervous

but i'm so very excited to meet with you today

 

what if

no one wants a girl with a past

i'm not reason enough for you to stay

i never marry

time flies by without me

true music, dies off

my hair is never simple

i don't even think to make corrections

i give until i have nothing else to offer, but time

i can never a child of my own

i don't know when to stop running

you never realize it, years from now

i don't want to get over you

asdfgjhgkl

the very thought of you,

 

sends tingles up my spine

the very sight of you,

 

drives me absolutely mad

feels right

when you asked what stereotype i fall under, i simply replied with

"i do exactly what i want. what feels right."

i wear what clothes feel right

i inhale deeply of what smells right

i aspire what hopes and dreams feel right

i jump at opportunities that feel right

i crave everything familiar about you, the longer apart we are, this unfamiliar longing oddly feels right

i run far and fast when it feels right

i kiss you excessively, everywhere possible when it feels right

i laugh. outrageously loud and at times, unattractively, when it feels right 

i listen to what reaches in, pushes through all my bullshit and feels so right

i hold close, and wish back to life the unrealistic fond memories of the past that still feel right

i touch, where my heart tells my hands will feel right

i invest, the most valuable gift i can offer, my time; into those very few people whom with simply feels right

i'll love you, each and every part, even when it doesn't feel right

-

i used to think such a boundary-less lifestyle was becoming so typical among those surrounding me

i was always more lenient towards the idea of such a structured lifestyle

but really, life's too short

to not live by the seat of your pants

to not indulge in the affect of each sense

to not return to our animalistic instincts

to simply be human

from time to time