Friday, October 8, 2010

might as well write my name on a cloud

The way you make me feel is like,

Smelling fresh cut grass or being in the back of a convertable under the stars. Or returning home from a long trip or just driving with no destination in the summer. It's like the feeling you get when you get an ‘A’ on your report card and your parents tell you how proud they are. Or when you hear your family laugh together or the whooshing of a tunnel when you drive with the windows down. It's like when you’re outside on a hot summer day and you have a cold glass of water or when you talk to an old friend after a month or two, yet the two of you are still as close as ever.


It's like the feeling you get when you hear your favorite childhood song on the radio for the first time in years, you turn it up and feel so alive. Or laying in bed watching a snow storm, knowing you don’t have to get up for hours and get just lay in the warmth of your comforters for hours. Its the way your stomach flip flops during your first true kiss, or how your body feels when you take off in an airplane for the first time. Or when you drive around in the front seat of car who belongs to the guy you like, and even though you should feel scared beyond control because he's driving so fast and stupid,  you feel so safe and alive. Yeah, that feeling.

The way you make me feel, feels good to me.


Sunday, August 22, 2010

Love is T h i c k e r than Forget

everybody told me that i was gonna be okay. that, it would take a little time, but i would heal. what you're feeling right now  it doesn't ever really go away - not completely. it's not like, you know, you're gonna go back to being the person you were before . it's more like something inside of you breaks and your body finds a way to compensate for it. like if you busted your right hand, you figure out how to use the left one. and sure, you might resist for awhile because you're pissed off that you have to learn all of this stuff again that nobody else does. eventually your body takes over and figures it out for you. and you're glad, because if it was up to you... you'd look at your broken hand forever and try to figure out what it was like before.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

I wanted to explode, to pull my ribs apart and let the sun inside.

Inside the snow globe on my father's desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white-striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, then quickly invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, "Don't worry, Brenda; he has a nice life. He's trapped in a perfect world.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

my horn went beep beep beep

Today was like any other. People filled in around me happy as they ever were, giggling and laughing, while I keep a content smile on my face hoping for the day to just go good. In a world of complete insanity I look to you for answers. You make me feel that the world isn't just a complete and utter waste. This world is full of backstabbers and lairs. People who think they are just too good for you, or people who talk about you to make themselves look better. And in the middle of all that all I need is you, to look at me with that little smile and stare and then look away. Knowing that for that one split second I was on somebody's mind today for the right reasons. I know it was only for a split second but that's all it took for me to make my whole day happy again. 



Tuesday, February 16, 2010

and maybe the birds are singing about you


Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. 
Do not let the pain make you hate
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. 
Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree
you still believe it to be a beautiful place.


Monday, February 8, 2010

you're all just crows on power lines.



Four characteristics constitute anyone who possesses them a sheer hypocrite, and anyone who possesses one of them possesses a characteristic of hypocrisy till she abandons it: when she is trusted she betrays her trust, when she talks she lies, when she makes a covenant she acts treacherously and when she quarrels she abuses.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

you're as old as you feel.


What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell
you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and
seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you
wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't.
You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And
you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are --
underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of
you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your
mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five.
And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like
if you're three, and that's okay. 
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings
inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the
other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Don't criticize what you can't understand







And then I felt sad because I realized that once people
are
broken in certain ways, it may take forever to fix.
and this is something nobody ever tells
you when you
are young and it
never fails to surprise you as you
grow older and see the people in
your life break one by
one.
You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened.



Thursday, January 21, 2010


Accept what people offer. Drink their milkshakes. Take their love.



Monday, January 11, 2010

I would rather be poor in a cottage full of books than a king without the desire to read.



The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you’d thought special, particular to you.
And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met. Maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.