I'm Not Here to Lie to You.

txtsfrmlstnght:

(757): if i see another status about New Moon, i’m gonna punch a baby

Over the next two weeks I’m going to be re-editing a lot of the poetry I’ve written in the past year.  It needs to be done for starters, and I have to turn in a finished version of everything for class at the end of the semester anyway.  I’ll more than likely be reposting the finished version of most of them, so don’t be surprised to see a few familiar faces.

never. ever.

katieheartsyou:

I’ve never read twilight.

wait that’s a lie.

eight pages of it.

but still…

my friend amanda CRIED when my other friend alex gave her a poster of edward cullen. SERIOUSLY. cried.

and that is why i will never read the ninth page…or the tenth or the one-hunderedth page of the book.

never. ever.

 Have I told you I love you recently?

patrickwilson:

Trent broke his elbow at work tonight.

Lol. It’s gross.

1. How do you break your elbow at quiktrip?

2. Pics or it didn’t happen.

Last Supper- Charles Wright

I seem to have come to the end of something, but don’t know what,
Full moon blood orange just over the top of the redbud tree.
Maundy Thursday tomorrow,
                         then Good Friday, then Easter in full drag,
Dogwood blossoms like little crosses
All down the street,
                    lilies and jonquils bowing their mitred heads.

Perhaps it’s a sentimentality about such fey things,
But I don’t think so. One knows
There is no end to the other world,
                                    no matter where it is.
In the event, a reliquary evening for sure,
The bones in their tiny boxes, rosettes under glass.

Or maybe it’s just the way the snow fell
                                         a couple of days ago,
So white on the white snowdrops.
As our fathers were bold to tell us,
                                    it’s either eat or be eaten.
Spring in its starched bib,
Winter’s cutlery in its hands. Cold grace. Slice and fork.

vampires are the new plague. (I need a new title)

I miss the days
when I went a day
without feeling your scars
on my neck.

Twins tagging me as something
less than a man.

A man.

I don’t know what that means anymore—
keep your shoulders broad and your tongue sharp.
Be, strive, achieve,
and sneak out in the morning before things get awkward.

Power tie,
Power forward,
Power steering,

and compensate for the insecurities.
Always compensate,
whether that’s with big words or a bigger truck,
as long as it’s big
(and if it’s not, you can compensate for that, too).

Never back down.
Always get the last word.
Fight through the pain.

What the fuck does that even mean?

It means I’m the bastard son
of an illegitimate ideal
sucking me dry,
leaving me nothing.

You’re just shit and bones.

I Choose This Day, Micah Ruelle

poetry365:

Light, your light,

slides

across the uneven skin of the earth-

longing to be waves;

to swell and surge like curled waves

caught in a horizontal ring.

_

Unlike the son of humanity;

not rising, divine,

a vertical reprimand,

accentuating the stark, defiant trunks of trees—

marking the slanted backs of men,

and their grotesque, handwritten notes

filed away in their brains.

_

Their shadows lengthen then,

like clockwork,

shrink into dark halos,

stagnant.

-

But Light,

your light magnifies,

washes out into infinity,

the flakes of daylight,

as dew on spring leaves, surprisingly—

about to blot me out.

-http://scribble-scrawl.tumblr.com/

well hot damn.