I am about 150 followers away from a really unbelievable milestone and about a month in a half away from my Fourth Anniversary on tumblr.

If both of those occure at once, I want to do something really special for a couple of my followers. :)

Do people ever assume that because you're pretty that you're not as smart?

Haha. well darling. I’m actually neither. My prettiness only exists underneath the muck of society and granted, I graduated from college but I’m honestly not that smart.

We live universally—
fighting our own verison
of the same battles
(where war wages on
uncertainty and excuses).
We are bound by
humanity (stitched
with flaws and expectations)
and soaked in good intentions
(like keroscene, ready to set
fire to the fields we dance in)
and we ache alone, as if
we are the only ones
who feel this kind of pain
because it feels personal,
radiating poison through our
veins as we stumble our way
towards the horizon praying
to be found by something more
than what we’ve been offered.

Sometimes the world
is too bright, too filled
with a light that we
cannot dissect into
something tangible,
sometimes the darkness
turns warm and comfortable,
sometimes my ears turn mute
and my lips rest in a straight
line and I don’t have to force
them into a smile that I
can’t claim-
sometimes, I’m worn out
by my own personality.

I struggle with hesitation,
in wake between reality
and expectations, I stand
on land I’ve never traveled
and the fear inside me wells
up like a geyser, ready to eject
from underneath the earth-
and I’m unsure of how to place
my investments and afraid
of being left bankrupt.  


Timestamp: 1408728780


new experiences

It was the way you laid me on my back,
on top my bed, clean sheets stained
in a new way, pulling at the corners-
lips on my neck, filling the empty spaces
in between my legs- gentle and firm,
the way you moved your hands across
my canvas confidently— it was the way
you mummered in my ear and bite
the edge of your bottom lip-
it was the way you crawled into my back
seat pulling me on top, your arms
wrapped around my waist breathing
heavy in the little oxygen we contained
and with fogged windows, under
the lights on your parents street—
and it was the way you kissed me
goonight, telling me by the way
I looked very beautiful.

love you crazy

There’s a madness that leaks from your veins,
dripping against the rest of your internal organs-
as a warmth spreads through your limbs, covering
your bones like the wind covers the earth.

We crave the satisfaction of another’s touch, skin
against skin, human nature colliding inside two beating
hearts, relationships that stand against time and tragedy
despited the freedom of summer and winter’s frost bite.

We could stand firm on our own two feet in the whirlwind
of this world, chaotic and messy, however, we both
realize an arm to lean into and an arm to offer is what
delievers us from the evil we watch through television sets.

Tear down these walls we’ve built, brick by brick, opening
windows to let the evening breeze cool our heated
and exhausted living bodies as we work for our dreams.

Remember to make the bed you sleep in and pack
the very kindness and beauty you seek—and love crazy.

I’m okay, you know? There are moments I’m not going to be okay and there are moments I’m going to feel like the world as I know it starts to crush me with it’s corners and destruction. I worry too much, I over think and over analyze and assume when silence becomes too heavy for me to handle. I look at this guy and man he makes me weak in the knees and I look at myself in the mirror and I have no clue how he could even like me… Sure, I’m beautiful but it’s almost this poetic beauty. I’ve been too poisoned by society’s view of the idea woman and sometimes I forget myself in that…


See I’ve never been able to scream
checkmate because I’m not
even on the board.

I hand out my confessions
with rainclouds ever-so-lightly
with the hesitancy to accept
however small this storm
will grow—I’ll hand you every
part of me

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.

The hardest thing is being patient. I’ve always known what I wanted in life but I was never sure of how to get there and what I want depends on more factors that I have no control over. What I want seemed simple though, the American dream, everyone was doing it, everyone has able to get there. Not me. I’ve struggled and spent my nights crying and sewing together my heart. I’ve written the clichéd reassurances on my bedroom walls, they don’t help. They especially don’t help coming from happily married couples, even women who tell me they were in my spot and when they finally gave up, they found what they stopped looking for. It doesn’t help. Why would I give up? Why would I stop looking? It’s the only thing I desire in my life, to become a wife and mother. I’m sorry, I can’t and I won’t stop looking and hoping and dreaming and being hurt. We all have our somedays and when those somedays come to pass, we’ll find another someday to look for, and my someday…

In the last month, what I knew myself as, has greatly changed. I mean isolate the guy I’m involved with, because who knows if that’ll even last (which I hope for my fragile heart, that doesn’t happen), I took what I believed in and changed it.

I’m terrified of what’s next and of what it all means. I’m terrified to find out what’s going to happen but I’m also terribly anxious to see how everything unfolds and most of that anxiousness turns into anxiety and over thinking and assuming. It’s not something I can necessarily control, but it has to be something I limit.

It takes two to fall in love
and three to make a family
and here I sit, praying you
will ask me to fall in love with
you and the rest of our story
will be written together.

It’s so clear what I want, and it’s simple. The hardest part is waiting to find out what he wants, he’s so good at avoiding questions though. One moment I’m so convinced he wants me in the same way and then the next I’m afraid he just wants me for sex.

The other day he referenced us as together and in my surprise he was hurt that I was surprised… but we hadn’t talked about it and I todl him was elated to hear him say “us”.

4 weeks. 3 times. 2 fights. Many misunderstandings. So much confusion. But who’s keeping count.