1 year ago
6 notes

Let me smoke you
not out, in.
You’ll expand in my lungs
chasing the space inside of me
filling my throat with a focused burn
that has to be endured
to be understood
to be loved
to be opened.
Fire alone
just isn’t enough anymore.
I want to inhale
the thick essence
of you.

1 year ago
243,423 notes

I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me

My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.

On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.

When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.

Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.

He tells me he loves me with the lights on.

I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.

The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.

The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.

I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me

Rachel Wiley (via acynicalcunt)

As usual, am crying behind the circulation desk. I love this so much. 

(via tortuugaconmuletas)

Gorgeous words are gorgeous. 

1 year ago
2 notes

I could blame my disposition on
how my sweater clings
what I ate
the number of hours I was unconscious or
the twisting of the weather,
but the clouds
are not producing water that feels like fire
similar to the hot coals behind my eye lids.

No environmental factor
or oncoming homework assignment
could cause this deflation,
my ass now sewing itself into my seat,
the edges of my ribs pushing outward
while the sharpened ends stab two respective chambers of my heart.
I place my hand on my chest
to make sure a pool of red isn’t seeping through
my multicolored, multistitched sweater
that still has less holes
than the inside of me.

I swear I was fine
I swore I would be okay
as I spun a bracelet onto my wrist
that pulled me down,
weighing on my mind,
as it etched visions I never forget,
imaginary irritated lines
across a white background
that screamed angrily:
“Not good enough”
“Never good enough”
“You deserve it”
“You deserve all of it.”
and I grit my teeth
because I’d forgotten how to scream
when I’d forgotten how to cry
and I don’t know how to fight this demon
without my confiscated weapon.

So I let myself sink into upholstery
wanting to cut out my insides
but terrified
I’ll find nothing there.

My Body Is Melodramatic
1 year ago
31 notes



Shane Koyczan: “To This Day” … for the bullied and beautiful

also: one of the best poems I’ve heard to this day.

I’m so in love with this, I don’t even know what to do with myself. 

1 year ago
3 notes

I’m having some serious writers block, yo.

One year before high school,

two years after health class,

I was discussing when I would be ready

“to do it.”

I had just recently been educated

that oral sex

has nothing to do with phones

and my friend and I were contemplating

the validity of abstinence.

We both agreed

We’d be abstinent,

but not to the code of the public school system

but to our own rule.


Feeling our thighs and our hips

pulling us towards the ground

with increased gravitational pull

we both agreed

we wouldn’t have sex,

until we were skinny.

Until the fat on our bones was stuck to our memory

instead of our stomachs.

Until our bellies were as flat

as the media’s definition of

who is allowed to be naked.

Because who could love anything

that wasn’t thin?


Intertubes are defined as floatation devices

to keep us above water,

but I’ve grown up knowing

that my intertube is the ring of fat above my hips,

a loving nickname given to me by my mother

who taught me my intertube drags me down.

She’d tell me I’d be pretty

if I just got rid of the life saver

hanging around my belt-

Because it wasn’t saving anyone. 

1 year ago
155,891 notes

Ashton.: How to love your depressed lover »


Last night I thought I kissed

the loneliness from out your belly button.
I thought I did, but later you sat up,
all bones and restless hands, and told me that
there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo.

I never know what to say to these things.
“It’s okay.” “Come…

I fucking love this poem. I fucking love this poem more than I should love this poem.

1 year ago
5 notes

I want to make words

that crush your lungs like perfect silence,

ones that smell like after-sex.

they’ll taste like rich chocolate truffles

and feel like rain. 

1 year ago
155,891 notes

Alias: Lenore: how to love your depressed lover. »


Last night I thought I kissed
the loneliness from out your belly button.
I thought I did, but later you sat up,
all bones and restless hands, and told me that
there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo.

I never know what to say to these things.
“It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.”

1 year ago
1 note


I’m performing in poetry finals tonight.

and i completely forgot.

fuck me.