A Conglomeration of Thoughts

I listen to Radiohead only slightly ironically

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493,555 Plays
Fleet Foxes
Can't Help Falling In Love With You (Cover)


Can’t Help Falling In Love With You (Cover) - Fleet Foxes 

"Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin?

But I can’t help falling in love with you…”

(via deadskive)

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As I disconnect from your spirit, I am left with uneasy hands. It is sprinkling and I am counting the raindrops on the pavement as I sit outside my home. But ‘home’ is not a completely accurate term. I had to forfeit mine when you left this world. Now my home is in the atmosphere of coffee shops or late night conversations. It is in the smiles of the people around me. I carry this void in my chest from your absence. It aches during holidays. It aches when I have to explain myself. Sometimes it aches for no reason at all.

Filed under writing poem spilled ink

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To Remember

I am beating upon the floors
"To this life, there must be something more"
and I stay, and it rains
in and out of every day

And with these imperfections,
perhaps the notable fact
is that I’ve stayed
I must be able to find my way back

Back to the road of saneness
and effectiveness
it’s the right way to live, right?
Maybe if we can
coexist with the quirks
This life can really work

And here it is,
the grand prize winner.
Are you accepting of your trophy?
Have you looked into the eyes of defeat
and kept moving?
Have you stayed?

I am here
I am growing
and I am fine

Filed under poetry poem writing spilled ink

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swimming lessons

When I feel a frown coming on,
I shoot it down,
chase it until after dawn.
I am coming up,
I am walking back and forth
wondering, merely wondering,
what this all is worth.
And that’s what scares me.
That’s what makes a crack
in the windshield of my
perception of recovery.
And you don’t even know me.
Not anymore, at least.
Not what’s become of me.
If you saw it,
I don’t know if you’d like me.
I don’t know if I like me.
But I’m trying to be,
I mean so hard.
I am trying to be me.
Take what I say
and turn it around.
Tell me I’m heading up,
Not down.
Never down.
My face will sometimes
hold a frown,
But I don’t have to accept it,
I don’t have to drown.

Filed under writing poem poetry spilled ink

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Idle Hands

When we think about tomorrow, have we answered today?
In the end, is there a price that we pay?
Sitting in front of extensions of ourselves.
We are sitting in front of the cure and the disease.

Can we answer it?
Is it still on?
Which part is the important one?
How do I work it?

Do you have answers?
I have feelings.
I have anger and
I have emptiness and
I have hope and
I have dreams and
I have me.

It won’t reach the point
to where it burns the chef’s hands.
Or all eternity will cease to be.
Every generation has it’s own plan.
This is the generation I where I want to be.

I don’t have to belong
I don’t have to fit it a box.
But I am me.
And He is he.

Filed under poem poetry tecnología spilled ink writing

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you were actually there all along

You came at a time when I was exhausted from love. I was done waiting for the whole intimate, caring, devoted relationship thing I had been looking for since I was a child. You came at a time when I was shipwrecked and stranded, in the desert of desperation and degradation. You came at a time when I had no expectations, no predictions, and no hopes. You came at a time when I had given up.

And you rejuvenated me. You are the oasis that came through, the wind that prevents the limp bird from falling, the hysteria that pushed Sandra Bullock to fight for her life in that one movie we watched together, squirming and crying out on the bed. You are the sunset because you’re reliable and colorful and constantly changing and exactly what my soul was aching for.

I can hear you in the songs I sing in my morning showers and I can taste you in the outside air on sunny days. I constantly see you in the people walking by and I am holding onto this world so much more firmly, so much more delicately because I know that you are listening to each foot I plant in the soil. And I get to listen to yours.

You are the midnight burgers and the sleepy kisses and the constant laughter and the lip stretching smiles. You are the energy that existed across the way from me, crossing paths in theater plays and stomach sickness.

It is a necessity to eat and laugh and kiss and sigh and cry and touch and carve into time with you. I feel a miniature nature populate when we sleep together and I can’t wait to plant forests across the earth with you.

Filed under writing poem spilled ink valentines lame

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parasitism at its finest

I can’t imagine the world inside of you. If I had to guess, I’d say your system is on fire. You breathe smoke into people’s lungs when you kiss them. You sit on a mound of coerced compliments. You feed off of the attention you steal. If the girls could see the tail subtly wrapping around them while you have them looking the other way, they’d run. Your dragon lair is filled with the intimacy you pluck from the hearts of girls who couldn’t know better.

My insides scream at the way you nestled a hurt inside of me and then dropped me off of your realm. The nerve you have to act as if we’re good could sting the scales off an alligator. The next time you try to wrap your arms around me, substitute me for a cactus. No matter how charming you think you are, you do not act in the interest of others. You act in the elevation of yourself. Each stolen smile lifts you higher. You unfortunately have not realized that as long as you depend on external acceptance, you will never be satisfied. Other people are not a product for your consumption. The more bones you suck dry, the hungrier, the emptier you’ll become. Start acting like an adult.

The world is much easier to live with if I can assume that no one can go along treating it the way you do and not get caught up in their own trap at some point. I am walking on eggshells around you and sickeningly you are a marathon runner. Take a second to imagine what it is like to be another person. You don’t know if love exists because the only son of a bitch you’ve ever loved is yourself. You are two dimensional. You are a lonely heart’s worst nightmare. You are a lesson that only comes with experience.

Filed under writing poem spilled ink anger hurt

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whatever the opposite of a reverie is

certain nights
I feel too tired
to even crawl
to bed 
since it’s

the late night
bugs are forming
and I am

I have talked
to you three
times on the
phone today
and I am still

it is scientifically
proven that I
cannot hold
a conversation
without talking

that one useful
chest organ flies
up into my chest
when I think

this is the
last night,
I swear,
I’ll be

even if I
have to make
the cocoon
I’ll wrap
inside of

Filed under writing poem spilled ink sleep love