I’ve been trying to figure out who I am. I can tell you that when I stare at a room long enough, I’m nauseated at how disjointed everything looks — like a dollhouse with ugly furniture. I can tell you that I’ve been so tired lately, no matter how much sleep I get. There are thousands of worlds, universes even, inside of my mind, but I can’t tell you the names of the planets and the galaxies. I’m thinking of how I am, and I’m unsure of what the answer is. I’ve gotten terrible at articulating my thoughts, it seems. My words aren’t flowing. They’re stuck. I’m in a rut. These are my thoughts, but why do they feel so foreign? Where have I gone? I’ve hidden myself in a labyrinth with no end, but I wouldn’t be able to answer you if you asked me what I was hiding from. There are no monsters in my kingdom, but I still tremble in my dreams. If you’ve figured me out, or if you’ve found me, please let me know.
God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning; You watch the sunset too often it just becomes 6 pm, you make the same mistake over and over you stop calling it a mistake. If you just wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up one day you’ll forget why
- I left my favorite pair of underwear at your house. I know your mother hates me, can I come pick them up?
- It’s been almost a month and I still miss you like a fucking limb.
- I didn’t know my bones could ache until I met you.
- You know, a week before we broke up, do you remember? I had bought a book of poetry. You asked why I didn’t read something more interesting and I could feel my insides splinter.
- You said poetry was all lies dressed up to sound pretty. When I look at you these days, I want to ask if sadness sounds pretty to you too.
- It’s 3 a.m. and this alcohol tastes like you.
- I saw you staring at me today during Lit class. I smiled at you and you didn’t smile back. I almost cried.
- The girl who sits next to me smells like you.
- I miss you.
- I have never had so many bad nights.
- Sometimes I write poetry about you on the internet. Strangers who have never met either of us think you’re cruel – they tell me if they had the honor of loving me, we’d have sex three times a day and they’d scream my name when they came.
- They think it is beautiful, how I am broken. I don’t think they understand.
- You used to tell me I was beautiful. I tried saying it in the mirror the other day, but it sounded wrong without your mouth wrapped around it.
- Everything I say sounds wrong without your mouth wrapped around it.
- We were never in love, but, oh God, we could have been.
For those who passed through it, Woodstock was less a music festival than a total experience, a phenomenon, a happening, high adventure, a near disaster and, in a small way, a struggle for survival. Casting an apprehensive eye over the huge throng on opening day, Friday afternoon, a festival official announced, “There are a hell of a lot of us here. If we are going to make it, you had better remember that the guy next to you is your brother.” Everybody remembered. Woodstock made it. [x]
My boyfriend took me this lovely photo of a Hibiscus in Hawaii
Favorite flowers. Beautiful🌸
Drugs may kill you, but they’ll never break your heart.
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard
as I hate myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
I’m new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized
that the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.
Libra can offer you…
these people are so happy, with just thier music, each other… There must be something in that 60s water…
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