January 2012
59 posts
On my way to the airport...
Going to North Carolina to see my favorite guy in the entire world. :)
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Things you can do to make quiet people feel bad →
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“A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no...”
– John Keats
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Day 1-My Favorite Song: “…Slowdance on...
The Poetry Corner: Variation on the Word Sleep →
the-poetry-corner:
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun &…
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66/365
January 12-
I know I have a lot further to go, but I truly feel like I’m heading in the right direction.
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65/365
January 11-
There is nothing like a feeling that hovers inside you that you don’t quite have the words for come to life on the page of a book. You realize, all at once, that what you feel is so real and honest and all you can do is be thankful for the fact that someone out there figured out how to say it.
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January 10-
I can go around and around in circles through the night, I can move from place to place and stare through the city lights from the back of a cab. I can take it all in and store it in that beating place; where some day soon I’ll play it all back to you.
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63/365
January 9-
You can get so lost in a place you think you know so well.
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January 8-
I stutter in the sheets I fumble with the floor-the streets have all turned around and I can’t unlock the door.
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January 7-
I don’t know what makes it so difficult to make decisions. I get so anxious I can’t even speak and move at the same time.
“Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and...”
– “The Velveteen Rabbit” by Margery Williams (via julie911)
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“Who am I to say that these things might not be forever? Who is Peter Van Houten...”
– John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
Untitled: Sonnet XI →
the-poetry-corner:
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones…
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60/365
January 6-
I shove my thoughts into the cracks of the floorboards and spin in circles until the white of the walls turns into the swirling snow that is hiding from us.
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59/365
January 5-
How did you crawl so fast into all these places I can no longer reach, but desperately grasp for? The breath between my sheets the footsteps in the hall the second before I wake the reason I stretch my arms so far across this massive twin size bed.
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58/365
January 4-
Today I am anxious in a way that makes me savor something more than every second. As if time could measure the way our bodies move when they don’t know when they’ll touch each other next.
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January 3-
I don’t know if it was all the history: all the artists from hundreds of countries and time periods, all the religion and mythology and imaginary and abstract, all the colors and strokes and worn canvases.
Or if it was where we snuck into a dark room of ancient medieval treasury to relieve ourselves with each other through the meeting of our lips.
Perhaps it was when I stood...
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January 2-
I fill myself up with the way our hands always reach down hallways where I turn around and find you every time.