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when I was sixteen a trendy indie boy nicknamed me spitfire
but he did not stay around to watch me burn out
my hands shake every time I think of you leaving me
which is every time you are gone
a boy fell asleep when I was kissing him once
just like you fall asleep when I whisper suicide
when I whisper monster in my chest
I am suffocating
every boy with an once of poet inside of their bottom lip has told me they want my aftermath
me after the facade of daytime has ceased
but you are the only one who has stayed so long
every boy that has touched me
has forgotten that they were infatuated by the girl with scared thighs and too fierce eyes
I want to hold you
but I’m afraid you will join them

I’m trying to say I’m experienced
in being the girl they will remember in ten years
whiney, life changing, constantly shaking soul
every boy I have touched will wish for me back
when their lover’s leave the cap off the toothpaste
I’m trying to say I’m not experienced in loving
you are the only one
I daydream about your shoulders
as much as sleeping in your clothes
second skin that I like so much more than my own

I’m trying to say I love you
I’m trying to say please do not forget me
I’m trying to say


like honey and molasses under sunlight

All these boys want to fuck me, then forget me. They like having me there when they feel like it. Like the thought of me moaning their names and that’s it. They invite me over, say, make yourself at home. So I climb onto their fire escapes and shake.

All these boys like to text me late at night, when they’re bored. “Just thinking about you,” they say. And that’s it. Or they type, “I read your poetry. You’re going somewhere.” “What did you read?” I reply nervously. When they get back to me it’s one, two, three weeks later. It’s, “I don’t remember. Some stuff.” And that’s it.

I am wondering what they’d write if they wrote about me. “She was nice. Sort of pretty too. But mechanical. Preplanned. I don’t think I knew her much at all.”

Or worse, “We talked a few times. I liked the way her mouth looked. Wanted to feel it on me, you know? Thought about us fucking a few times…Yeah, I’d say I knew her pretty well.”

All these boys wipe their drool on me like I am just the flesh. Just a place to die in, for the night. Just a sweet thing to reflect on when they’re feeling heavy. Just an idea that they never got and still don’t want. And that’s it. That’s it.

And That’s It | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
My DNA was not meant for this decade.

My DNA was not meant for this decade.




someone once told me that
life is the longest thing
I will ever experience
but I refuse to believe it
that man must have never
made a pot of coffee
while hungover
he must have never walked home two miles
in a northern january
he must have never been kissed slowly
life is not the longest thing I will experience
life is short
moments are long

And while you’re off fucking your new girlfriend, the ditzy stoner with a bad dye job. I hope memories of me hit you like a train. I hope you remember that I was the one that talked to you all night when your grandma died and it was me that held you in my arms on the days where all you wanted was to be dead to the world. I hope you remember when we made KD in our underwear and that you kissed me while I was sitting on the kitchen counter. I hope you remember that I was the one who sat through those horribly made horror movies with you just to make you smile and that I was the one who listened to you rant on and on about how much of an asshole your dad was. I hope you remember that I was the one that convinced you to quit smoking cigarettes and that I was the one that always accepted your dumb apologies. I hope you remember that it was always me. You know it was. I hope you know that it was always you too. I hope you remember that I loved all of you. I hope you know it was exhausting. But above all, I hope you’re happy.
(H.S) Just so you know - dumbdaisies (via perfect)

"When they don’t love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself. You are not a reflection of the people who can’t love you. You will love again. You will be loved again." - Caitlyn Siehl 


"When they don’t love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself. You are not a reflection of the people who can’t love you. You will love again. You will be loved again." - Caitlyn Siehl 



you are a revolution in flight
Cleopatra with her eyes blackened out
Poseidon realizing he loves a mortal more than the sea
you are every nightmare I cannot wake from and do not want to
you are my hands held still
my ribs pushing more and more against flesh that I am always ashamed of
you are present tense
adjective so vulgar I cannot speak it without gasping
you are every place in my room I find sanctuary
you are holy water
mouth dripping lies so beautiful I believe them
you are hope
you are hope
you are wind when I’m freezing
you are jacket when I am not
talk to me as if I am a conquest
and you are a conquistador
looking at me as if I am an Aztec temple
a mercenary begging to go home at the first sight of loss
you are every term I learned on accident when I had better things to do
you are eyes
you are hands
you are metaphors I never write correctly
words I cannot pronounce without stumbling
you are Aphrodite
you are Picasso
only one able to find art in ugly features
you are every cliche line on a greeting card
coffee on Monday morning
you are Socrates
you are Han Solo
you are the sunset when I’m already fast asleep
you are my lungs caving inward
you are hope
you are hope
you are the first poem I’ve written in months and cannot get right
I am stumbling
am choking
I am Anne Boleyn forgiving
I am here
Don’t fall in love; you’ll just end up writing shitty poetry he never even glances at. (via avvfvl)

No, avvfvl, this is my poem. Jesus.

(Source: curse-dhands)

Let me tell you some things.

I used to investigate child abuse and neglect. I can tell you how to stop the vast majority of abortion in the world.

First, make knowledge and access to contraception widely available. Start teaching kids before they hit puberty. Teach them about domestic violence and coercion, and teach them not to coerce and rape. Create a strong, loving community where women and girls feel safe and supported in times of need. Because guess what? They aren’t. You know what happens to babies born under such circumstances? They get hurt, unnecessarily. They get sick, unnecessarily. They get removed from parents who love them but who are unprepared for the burden of a child. Resources? Honey, we try. There aren’t enough resources anywhere. There are waiting lists, and promises, and maybes. If the government itself can’t hook people up, what makes you think an impoverished single mom can handle it?

Abolish poverty. Do you have any idea how much childcare costs? Daycare can cost as much or more than monthly rent. They may be inadequately staffed. Getting a private nanny is a nice idea, but they don’t come cheap either. Relatives? Do they own a car? Does the bus run at the right times? Do they have jobs of their own they need to work just to keep the lights on? Are they going to stick around until you get off you convenience store shift at 4 AM? Do they have criminal histories that will make them unsuitable as caregivers when CPS pokes around? You gonna pay for that? Who’s going to pay for that?

End rape. I know your type errs on the side of blaming the woman, but I’ve seen little girls who’ve barely gotten their periods pregnant because somebody thought raping preteens was an awesome idea. You want to put a child through that? Or someone with a mental or physical inability for whom pregnancy would be frightening, painful or even life-threatening? I’ve seen nonverbal kids who had their feet sliced up by caregivers for no fucking reason at all, you think sexual abuse doesn’t happen either?

You say there’s lots of couples who want to adopt. Kiddo, what they want to adopt are healthy white babies, preferably untainted by the wombs and genetics of women with alcohol or drug dependencies. I’ve seen the kids they don’t want, who almost no one wants. You people focus only on the happy pink babies, the gigglers, the ones who grow and grow with no trouble. Those are not the kids who linger in foster care. Those are certainly not the older kids and teenagers who age out of foster care and then are thrown out in the streets, usually with an array of medical and mental health issues. Are they too old to count?

And yeah, I’ve seen the babies, little hand-sized things barely clinging to life. There’s no glory, no wonder there. There is no wonder in a pregnant woman with five dollars to her name, so deep in depression you wonder if she’ll be alive in a week. Therapy costs money. Medicine costs money. Food, clothes, electricity cost money. Government assistance is a pittance; poverty drives women and girls into situations where they are forced to rely on people who abuse them to survive. (I’ve been up in more hospitals than I can count.)

In each and every dark pit of desperation, I have never seen a pro-lifer. I ain’t never seen them babysitting, scrubbing floors, bringing over goods, handing mom $50 bucks a month or driving her to the pediatrician. I ain’t never seen them sitting up for hours with an autistic child who screams and rages so his mother can get some sleep while she rests up from working 14-hour days. I don’t see them fixing leaks in rundown houses or playing with a kid while the police prepare to interview her about her sexual abuse. They’re not paying for the funerals of babies and children who died after birth, when they truly do become independent organisms. And the crazy thing is they think they’ve already done their job, because the child was born!

Aphids give birth, girl. It’s no miracle. You want to speak for the weak? Get off your high horse and get your hands dirty helping the poor, the isolated, the ill and mentally ill women and mothers and their children who already breathe the dirty air. You are doing nothing, absolutely nothing, for children. You don’t have a flea’s comprehension of injustice. You are not doing shit for life until you get in there and fight that darkness. Until you understand that abortion is salvation in a world like ours. Does that sound too hard? Do you really think suffering post-birth is more permissible, less worthy of outrage?

“Pro-life” is simply a philosophy in which the only life worth saving is the one that can be saved by punishing a woman.

In reply to a ‘pro-life’ blogger: STFU, Conservatives: When I say I’m pro-life… (via grrrltalk) emphasis mine. (via fuckyeahfeminists)



(via feminist-space)



Do you like magazines? Obviously. Everybody likes magazines. The point is: please buy magazines from me.
These magazines have up to an 80% discount compared to buying them anywhere else, and 40% of this money will be used to help fund my school’s prom this year. (I know, it’s lame in the way everyone who isn’t in love with high school thinks it’s lame. But it’s PROM. I want an excuse to wear a ridiculously nice dress and feel pretty.)
If you could go to this link- I don’t know how to link things correctly in text posts: you’ll be able to find over 1,000 magazines you can subscribe to.
Thank you so much, you guys!



Appreciate me- and my large men’s sweater- please.

Appreciate me- and my large men’s sweater- please.