Aspiring Author

Life, with its rules, its obligations, and its freedoms, is like a sonnet: You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself.

I’m not saying it won’t get better I’m just fucking sick of waiting for it

boys will be boys,
but women must be 
warriors; princesses. we must be fierce but fragile. we must be broken 
but unbreakable. We must be everything but nothing and learn to take 
the blame. I will no longer take the blame. 
my body is not a war I should be made
to fight for my existence is more than how to 
survive.
 boys will be boys and when they are I will show them 
what a woman is.
 And I will not apologise.

There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, ‘Consume me’.

You can never replace anyone because everyone is made up of such beautiful specific details.

if I wasn’t here tomorrow, the stars would still appear, the sun would come out, the earth would still turn, the seasons come and go, don’t tell me I’m important or that I need to stay, I’m a tiny speck in this endless universe without me, you’ll be okay.

1 am’s make me miss you terribly.

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.

A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading.

I am full of unwritten poetry

Six Word Story # 3

I’m in a room full of strangers and you’re on my mind. Something more tangible than these bizarre shapes and stories. You are someone worth writing about. You are something more.

Truth Is {2014}

I learned to swim from being shipwrecked on your shore.

If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.