someday

may be we
                  look too far forward
                                                  and the blurry shapes we think we see

aren’t really there at all,
or, aren’t what we think.

but even if it’s all a delirious fantasy
(college-aged, fresh, and soft)
just the words that pool around our faces
(gentle, gold-rimmed, and airy)
are enough to fill the cracks in my chest.

and no, I’ve never felt like this either.
and I’m bad with sounds but good with marks
                                                               on
                                                             paper.

sometimes I wonder if the way we feel is different
if every love is like a fingerprint, unique, or
perhaps two prints, stacked on-on-another
tangled like legs in bed.

anyway,
(how I always find the lost thread of my thought)
let me feel with all my cells the stories we tell each other.

the future is not robots or revolution,
it’s the place where our minds come out to play together.
this painting is so beautiful, climb into the frame with me.

let the somedays slowly melt into nows, and vows, and forever. 

(or so we dare to hope).

In Transition

Sometimes I get frightfully bored with my life, because I feel like in every facet of it I’m in transition.

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the fourth (iv)

if I could see you
lit up redwhiteandblue
every year till I’m one hundred and two—

well, 
I think that’d be pretty cool.

do you?

light in

if green lightens to
yellow,and purple to
red—
(who needs blue? we’ve
already got the sky)then

we were those bushes all
tangledup nice growingbig

you are a pat of butter
melting in the sun, well
underneaththatis

i am a crisp apple
praying for a bite
beforetheworms

we are those bushes, one
purple one green,

together we will grow
big nice tall strong
in harmony

i hope i never take your sunlight 
away 

drunk on a bus

I love you like
A habit that I can’t break I love you like
Skating down a hill I love you like
Easy peasey lemon squeezy I love you like
Videotapes no one watches anymore I love you like
Happy tears pooling in the corner of your lips I love you like
The weight of your head in my lap I love you like
Playlists and up and coming artists I love you like
Broken shoelaces I love you like
It’s in my nature I love you like
I’ll never stop.

Would this be a good time to read Baudelaire’s poetry and sob quietly to myself

I dunno, just laying face down on the couch and waiting for some baby boomers to die, I guess
Millennials, when asked about plans for the future (via alwaysfaithfulterriblelizard)

(via warmbug)

I’M STILL LONELY

I’M STILL LONELY!
It is a symptom or the disease? 
Is it anyone’s fault but my own?

Maybe no one really knows me and no one ever will,
Maybe I’ll live in tall apartment buildings painted white
In small two-bedroom apartments painted eggshell
Walk into a kitchen painted ecru,
And you, and you and you

Will stand there and smile like you understand,
But No One Will Because No One Can.

(I dare you to read this.)

You know I really like to believe that people are understanding and smart and respectful but reading the comments on the article I just linked reminds me how many closeminded humans are out there. The amount of people out there (men AND women) who think their opinions on what a woman (or ANYONE for that matter) should do with their body/reproductive system/LIFE should matter/influence policy is fucking appalling.

imaphotoeditor:

read this story. freak out.
Photographer: ramona rosales
art direction: Megan Ziegler-Haynes
design: rob vargas

imaphotoeditor:

read this story. freak out.

Photographer: ramona rosales

art direction: Megan Ziegler-Haynes

design: rob vargas

Jane (n.):
1. A college student cultivating a love-hate relationship with academia.
2. A runner who hates to get out of bed.
3. A bright-eyed girl with CSS wishes and HTML dreams.
4. One who was gone back to.
5. Tweets out the manic and tumblrs the depressive.

When I'm sad, it usually goes here. When I'm happy, I find people to smile at. Or it goes here.

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These are not poems.

These are not songs.

Talk to me, baby.