tigermeteor:

The potato skin back of a sunburned boy, baby birds are your favorite.

Who feels: angrie, mad, and sad

Who is: intellijent

i don’t know what you go through, and i don’t speak spanish either.

javier, i roll my heart to you across the arts and crafts table.

lick the plate clean, i don’t want any left for myself.

(robin FROM THE hood)

in mcdonald’s, she started talking about houses, OH! the beautiful historical ones downtown, wouldn’t it be so great if we could live in one of those, john?

you are obsessed with houses. you are obsessed with cars.

you’re right, rachael, you’re completely right. so what are you obsessed with?

humbled and angrie, i am quiet.

i didn’t want to admit that i am obsessed with myself and studying the things inside of it.

humbled and angrie, i lower my eyes to the chicken selects.

dip them in hot mustard, dip my heart in hot mustard, roll it to you across that dirty table with the wads of gum underneath.

eat it and lick your fat fingers, i don’t want any left for myself.

(grey fire)

he asked me, which do you like to do better: dance or write? writing.

i know this because once i was emotional and i tried to dance to make myself feel better, it didn’t work. i sat down and wrote, and that worked. as much as working works in situations that need work, writing works for me.

i am so glad you’re alive again, i am so sad it took a bad weekend to do it.

to anyone that i have lowered or dismissed or have possibly taken advantage of: i am incredibly sorry.

to anyone who thought i was cool and then got to know me and realized i wasn’t, i’m not sorry for that.

hey, wait! save some of the world for me too! my hands are too small, i can’t touch as much as fast as you do.

what was it like to be called a genius? you weren’t surprised, you already knew it. geniuses are so smart that they already know these things.

me: i find myself not believing anything i say.

i want to go on tuesday. i want to go underneath it, inside of it, and next to it.

i’d like to think this is just high school, but i know it isn’t. things will be like this for a very long time.

I’M NOT DEPRESSED (my mom has told me this) i really am not, though. i don’t need medication, i don’t want to kill myself, i am a normal happy girl with normal happy thoughts.

but these nonsense tumblr posts bring in the strange sympathetic and confused looks at school like you wouldn’t believe.

i am a normal happy girl with completely normal and happy thoughts.

i am very very normal.

some of you guys think i’m a “beautiful” person, but what is that to a mug filled with a bunch of freshly sharpened pencils?

what is that to the brand new car in the driveway?

i’ll grow up to be like dino, still writing strange facebook statuses, living alone, dating some russian, drinking hot chocolate, seeing ghosts.

i think if i saw you again, i’d kiss you. not to start or end anything, right? just to make sure you’ve got the same lips, to make sure you’re still 17 years old and that i’m still 16 years old, and i’d give you my blankets, let you sit out in the hall outside my bedroom, if it’d make you happy, if that would make you a little bit happier.

i don’t know what makes you happy, or myself happy, or my neighbor’s dog happy. even it is a beautiful day, he barks regardless.

and like i expected, i didn’t finish as much as i wanted to finish this weekend, only the bare necessities, only the bear necessities (forget about your worries and your strife).

what if i run out of words? i hate the ones i write the second after i write them. i hate my handwriting, it looks like it belongs to someone desperate.

i grew up being told to always think about the things you like about yourself. i like my eyes, i like that i can laugh very easily, i like that my mouth is small, i like that i have synesthesia, i like that.

faith thought people forgot it was her birthday. we sang happy birthday to her and she cried. i stuffed 5 egg rolls in my mouth to keep myself from crying too.

the mundane isn’t inferior to me:

i want to live in dirt,

i want to sing trigonometry formulas,

i want to sleep underneath the oil that drips out of your dad’s truck.

and this is the first time i’ve had things bother me that i can’t tell anyone. i think and i think and i think and there is nobody i can talk to. where did the boys with the arrows go? when did all that friend flesh cushion leave?

baby birds are my favorite too, i want to be your friend, i don’t want to be “angrie”, i just want to be able to finish my homework without getting soggy.

i wanna shave your head in the middle of the night to show you just how little things like that matter. you’re still alive.

everything is sharp and golden

so what?

lynx

no matter how many time i try to explain things, it never seems to ring true.
you worked so hard for that man, i worked so hard for you.

i miss my brother

lately i have felt very disconnected from my family. everyone is always out. kasten’s birthday was yesterday and i hardly saw him.

i want to be part of something.

i want to pound my chest and fall in love with the sound.

i feel like nobody. i want to be held.

i’m trying hard not to be jealous or scared, but i just want to collect everything beautiful and hold it there and never let anyone touch it for fear of it breaking.

last night at about 1 AM

noah and i had the idea to go to the cardinal but when we got there i felt very bad vibes- there were lots of people there, old white clubbers in leather mostly, and also it just reminded me of the weird times, so we turned around and went to denny’s instead.
then when we got to denny’s, noah got bad vibes (“i never liked this denny’s, this is weird, but, do you mind if we keep going?”) so we went to the OTHER denny’s and finally sat down to eat french fries and onion rings and i ate a bite of noah’s turkey/bacon sandwich because it sounded so good but the taste was hella foreign and freaky.

i’m drawing hannah’s new tattoo, and noah sleeps with his knees up.