5.4.13

frantically written about nothing in particular

It's 10:39 and I'm making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I'm sandwiched between finals and trying not to lose my head.

My birthday is on Saturday, and I've been trying to ignore it.

I wrote something earlier that I intended to share, but it's funny how the way you intend to write words is sometimes not the way in which the words want to be written. It turned into the kind of thing I can't share with anyone.

That's all. I need to go to bed.

Good night. Are you taking tests, too? Good luck, friend.

Love.

The Finals Song

I've been listening to this song every morning as I get ready for school. It feels like a kick in the pants and a hug at the same time, which is what I need right now.


The Competition - Kimya Dawson

are you gone and on to someone new?

I've got another confession, my friend
I'm your fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new.

Is someone getting the best of you?

This one too.

poem for a Sunday

What you want to say most 

is inadmissible.

Say it anyway.

Say it again.

What they tell you is irrelevant

can't be denied and will

eventually be heard.

Every question

is a leading question.

Ask it anyway, then expect

what you won't get.

There is no such thing

as the original

so you'll have to make do

with a reasonable facsimile.

The history of the world

is hearsay. Hear it.

The whole truth

is unspeakable

and nothing but the truth

is a lie.

I swear this.

My oath is a kiss.

I swear

by everything

incredible.

- "The Rules of Evidence" by Lee Robinson

metaphor, pt. 3

{My sprouts are growing. Maybe I am, too.}

Part 1.

Part 2.

Don't read this.

I am having a hard week. 

My hands hurt. I'm weary.

Sometimes I feel vulnerable, and I want someone to tell me I'm pretty, and competent, and worth listening to. Seasons like this make me feel as though none of these are the case. 

I feel terribly, terribly young. 


{I'm sorry, everyone.}