veritas vos liberabit
the name's destiny. 22. writer / poet. creative writing major @ SFSU. poetry editor for hemingway's playpen. these poems & small pieces of prose are all first drafts.

my

"I write only because there is a voice inside of me that will not be still." - Sylvia Plath

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041614 (10:31PM)

earth
or
hell

the pathway to either:
cobblestones
and
magnolias
that smell like
dew
and 
salty tears

do we know
where we’re going

where we’re going
do we know

salty tears
and
dew
that smell like
magnolias
and cobblestones
the pathway to either:

hell
or earth

041614 (10:06PM)

                               your kisses are
                                     a hawk
                              waiting to devour 
                                     a gopher
don’t stop
wanting me
like that

041614 (10:02PM)

we’re washed out waves
looking for sand
to smooth and renew

but instead
we waste our hours
in the emptiness
of social networking,
making our lives
works of fiction—
why not read them instead?

041614 (9:59PM)

the glaze
in your eyes,
the yes hanging
off your lower lip—
this will be a fun night

041614 (6:24PM)
(via Isfp-princess by LittleMsArtsy on deviantART)

(via Isfp-princess by LittleMsArtsy on deviantART)

041614 (6:14PM)

the truth
is the power

i am bounded by words,
flipped pages,
notes scribbled,
letters rearranged,
rendered feelings
& home-stays

my creativity cannot be tamed
i’m clawing
at the four walls of the box
this slow painful escape
i reach for
will one day be mine

& home-stays
rendered feelings,
letters rearranged,
notes scribbled,
flipped pages,
i am bounded by words

is the power
the truth

041614 (11:11AM)

I stepped onto the bottom stair of the ladder and clutched the side rails; this reminded me of when my dad forced me to try Mediterranean for the first time and the dolma’s grape vine leaves felt too slippery and tasted too sour on my tongue. Everything felt out of place; dolma would never be on the short list of my favorite things in the world and neither would ladders. I looked up the fire escape and counted each step. There were fifteen stairs and I wondered how long it would take me if I exhaled and just pretended it was an obstacle course. I moved up one. At this rate, a snail would be beat me. I felt the anxiety crawl up from the acidic pits of my stomach to the back of my throat, circling there like a hawk and burning like a stovetop’s flame. How would Tyler react if I threw up about 5 feet to his left?

041614 (10:27AM)fireflies

every time
we catch a firefly
in a thick glass mason jar

we take a
beautiful creature
out of nature

we steal the glow
away from the darkness

how can we be so selfish?

This is how you lose your damn mind. This is how you force life’s expansiveness into a timeline. This is how you put your future on radical blast. This is how you’re 26 paying off your debt because you spent two extra years in college not knowing what you wanted to do. This is how you become a slave trained to excel only in white collar jobs. This is how you end up chasing your long gone creativity. This is how you raise your blood pressure by staying up all night, by “reading” the classics on Shmoop and Sparknotes. This is how you end up with insomnia and on Ambien. This is how you lose your energy.  This is how you end up taking Adderall. This is how you end up with your head over the toilet, throwing up curry and rice, poisoned by tequila shots— you might as well pump the alcohol into your veins. This is how love becomes an alternative to happiness. This is how you turn into a drone. This is how time becomes hard and calloused like the bottom of your feet. I thought college was supposed to help you, not defeat you.

041114 (1:27PM)
"

"Maybe beds are where women belong. Half the women in the world are right now in bed, theirs or somebody else’s, whether it’s night or day, whether they want to be or not. Take that bed of Hamlet’s mother, for example, or Desdemona’s, because that’s where Iago saw her in his fired-up imagination, a high-born slut, sleeping with a blackamoor. I could go on and on. You persuaded me to ask for a job in this place, and now you can listen to the consequences. Now I see women as inseparable from their beds."

"Bedded for eternity?"

"
Gina Berriault, “Women in Their Beds” (via todayiwillwrite)
041014 (3:32PM)

I must center myself.

041014 (3:23PM)

technology leads
to the mental abyss