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.


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

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042314 (10:17PM)

pillow talk isn’t
soft flamingo feathers
with a dab of lavender oil
to seal the deal

it’s pure vomit
yesterday’s meafloaf
with tomato paste / ketchup slather
caked on
gripping on
to stay relevant

just lead your world of excess
let the lettuces rot
and lose your diamond necklace

mommy will buy you new ones anyways

your soul—
an amalgamation
of queen elizabeth,
grace kelly
& the wealth of oprah

sorry not sorry that
cheap matinees
for captain america
aren’t your thing

042314 (5:07PM)

(Source: Spotify)

tags: /music /spotify
042214 (1:53PM)
"the girls / pop champagne into the trees / and the heaviness parts / the waves—oh this is why / the Romans gave up / and died—"
Matthew Rohrer (via lucybiederman)
041614 (10:31PM)


the pathway to either:
that smell like
salty tears

do we know
where we’re going

where we’re going
do we know

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

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?