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☾ the name's destiny. 22. writer • poet • music enthusiast. creative writing major @ SFSU. 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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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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091914 (5:24PM)

(Source: lavie-imprevu)

091714 (7:30PM)

I sometimes drown
in my own consciousness

seas of self doubt
spread further apart
by winds of self-loathing

I’m not buoyant
I’m sinking
yellow, blue & white
water wings
can’t save me
from this trip

091714 (7:29PM)

Where’s your alignment?
You’re bent out of shape.
You’re meant to be
a straight rod of metal,
not a fucking disgrace.

you— your grammar
you’re a nazi!
their knack for killing people
& things— it’s over there
in your knapsack—
they’re waiting for you
your “friends”
on Facebook, Instagram & Twitter
the ding ring ring the buzz tweet tweet
coming from your sophisticated
wifi enabled 4g brick
they perpetuate your killing of grammar

what the fuck is a bae anyways?
#yolo #thuglife #icanhashtaganythingandmakeitsoundcoolbuticantreachmy140characterlimit
(this stanza is 118 minus this note)

can we please stop
with this clusterfucking
of the english language?

091714 (10:43AM)

I am so sick of people going back on their word.

tags: /personal

I didn’t know who I was becoming. I did everything Liza told me to do because she had a perky ass, shiny hair and a voice that just oozed authority every time she spoke, but I didn’t know why I listened to her. I carried her abnormal psychology and literature books, read her creative writing homework aloud for sentence clarity, Googled places for her to eat lunch on the weekends and a bunch of other asinine shit she could have done herself.

            There were always the moments where I tried to remember that I was my own person. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t an extension of her. I would think, I can just walk away and never see her again. But she’d look at me in the midst of a study session. She’d be sitting with her back against her bed and I’d be sprawled out on the carpet with five opened books and a highlighter cap hanging out of my mouth as I chewed it to stay focused. When I wasn’t looking, she’d reach her hand out and tuck my hair behind my ear while flashing me a champion smile. Her fingers grazed my cheek and I felt the electricity coming from her hand. Her energy seemed to flow into me and as the corners of her mouth turned into a smile I almost didn’t mind being her lackey.

            She had a sense of power that wasn’t visible, but it made me lose who I was by being near the force of it. It made me wonder, are you still yourself when you focus all of your energy on someone else?

091614 (12:48AM)

dumbledorathexplora:

チミン

091514 (11:43PM)

Despite wanting to clean out my draft folder a few months ago and complete all the first drafts of the poems/short stories in there, the number went from under 200 to 336. I need to be a finisher as well as a starter.

I loved you years ago
when my lips were slathered
in bubblegum scented gloss
juxtaposed
with chipping black polish
the good girl meets grunge
fixated on rebellion
writing poetry on bathroom stall walls
about how the world is gettin thin
about how the stars disappearin
childish rhymes set in
crossed out similes about kid-like miseries
"his love is like saturn’s ring
majestic, mysterious, but magically elusive”

I loved you years ago
before the oozing thickness of
adulthood set in

before sweet honey coated words
"i’ll love you under the day the world ends"
became crystallized bullshit
"i’m sorry i forgot our anniversary,
i’ll get you a present later”

before I knew that love
could pain me more than slivers of splinters
stuck in my palm when i was 5
you set these little wood pricks
into my young heart

before we parted,
I learned needlepoint
stitched a picture
of your sweet baby dachshund 
just to have her memory
make me wish the end wasn’t so blunt

and now you + i are just initials
carved into the rotting bark
of a dying tree
that’s awaiting it’s funeral

chainsaws and sharp edges
aim to pry you away
and make you only

a memory too far removed

The world won’t stop for you.

Winter freezes. So does your love.

i. i dreamt that the world opened up,
spread itself apart,
and crackled underneath my feet.
the inner core
of the earth spreading apart,
molten rock flying in waves
across the concrete
in the midst of it all,
stood humphrey bogart,
bowlegged and bug-eyed

after jumping out of his cherrywood grave
he grabbed my hand,
said “here’s looking at you kid.”

ii. i dreamt that river phoenix
didn’t die from drug induced
heart failure— it was a halloween lie
his heart was mine,
something I could eat
like cinnamon & nutmeg
smothered peach pie
in the pit of my stomach
a tiny little peach pit
that would grow into a peach tree
and feed the fucking world

iii. i dreamt that i was screwing
mister frankenteen himself,
cory monteith on the marin county
side of the golden gate bridge;
international orange hurts my eyes;

he didn’t care about passerbys,
just the wind whistling in his ear
as he missed heroin coursing
through his veins

iv. I dreamt that marilyn monroe’s limbs
were intertwined in mine, she begged me
not to tell her secrets
and she’d never tell mine
she let my hands go up her skirt
and she cried
teardrops heavier
than rain that stung
like acid on my skin