March 2012
sometimes i forget that kids my age are drinking and having sex. and then there’s me
im a girl scout. hmu for cookies.
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Siempre
Antes de ti
no tengo celos.
Ven con um hombre
a la espalda,
ven con cien hombres en tu cabellera,
ven con mil hombres entre tu pecho y tus
pies,
ven como un rio
lleno de ahogados
que encuentra el mar furioso,
la espuma eterna, el tiempo.
Traelos todos
adonde yo te espero:
siempre estaremos solos,
siempre estaremos tu y yo
solos sobre la tierra
para comenzar la vida.
Paublo...
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February 2012
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he who sees through the
same tinted vision as me
with clearer shoulders
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Six types of Love
Eros
a passionate physical and emotional love based on aesthetic enjoyment; stereotype of romantic love
Ludus a love that is played as a game or sport; conquest; may have multiple partners at once
Storge an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship, based on similarity
Pragma love that is driven by the head, not the heart
Mania obsessive love; experience great emotional highs...
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i watched ferris bueller as they backed up the car
wheels spinning counter-clockwise
the odometer not spinning at all, and thought,
“is this how you fall out of love?”
wind back the damage already done
or do you
kick it
slam your fist straight through its ventricles
wham it through glass windows
laugh once it hits the ground broken.
but driving backwards didn’t help...
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Words to keep inside your pocket:
Quiescent - a quiet, soft-spoken soul.
Chimerical - merely imaginary; fanciful.
Susurrus - a whispering or rustling sound.
Raconteur - one who excels in story-telling.
Clinquant - glittering; tinsel-like.
Aubade - a song greeting the dawn.
Ephemeral - lasting a very short time.
Sempiternal - everlasting; eternal.
Euphonious - pleasing; sweet in...
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things fall apart
“come to the sun,” they whispered
in foreign lullabies, with big words
that even sounded warm.
their god loved all, except for
me, alone in the dark with only the
trees, the gods they called fictitious.
“come to the sun,” their lullabies
were translated as tragedies to me,
the sun blanched my skin
with the void of foliage.
they told me they could see
clearer...
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An Almost Made Up Poem
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain is in France where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. you used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you knew famous artists and most of them were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right, go ahead, enter...
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