This is the soundtrack that played softly in the background of 2013. This may be the music that saved me. The music that made me dance and skirt the edge. The music I wrote poems to. Basically, everything.
I'll send some out every Monday this month to you like a tiny gift.
And on the first night we met you said "Well darling, let's make a deal.
If anybody ever asks us, let's just tell them that we met in jail."
You know when you win something like a bingo game and you get that instant happy rush? And you can't stop your hands from flying up up up and you just let the sounds come out of your mouth? That. Lottery tickets rubbed and won. Good news and hugging. Dancing. Fucking dancing. I want to exhaust myself with those feelings. Ain't nobody got time for the opposite of happy. I want to write down words and press them into your palm. I want you to admit everything and smile like the sun and let the whole room burn with light. I'll pay more attention to the way my heart can throw hooks like a badass and we'll really watch this year when the ball drops like a reminder that you can always begin again. You can forever follow the map to the place you know as home.
I wanna be a renegade poet inspiration junkie mofo.
my son woke me up with a kiss on my mouth
sticky spit suspension bridge between us
my god how did I deserve this?
he demanded me to rise and love him with madness
how does he know about Kerouac ?
does he listen to everything I say?
and I did love him and we did dance
on piles of laundry
over scattered toys
and he held me like God
like the future
we are our own small fires
that burn up the bad
light the room
does he know we gave birth to each other?
We’re all curious about what might hurt us.
—Federico García Lorca
stick your hands up
I have a gun
or a heart so broad and slick
that it demands attention
this is a robbery
I want everything you have
in my hands
all of your words
the darkest thoughts
you keep like candy
a bit of flesh
the dance you do when no one is looking
all of your bad habits
give them to me
I won't hurt you
I'll keep you safe
from people like me
I'm unraveling like the sleeve of an old sweater you wear only when you think of me when the moon is silver and you let the fire burn right out like a rebel freeze your ass off and dance a bit but nothing can make it alright
"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."
— Neil Gaiman
"Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
I drove my car all the way down the road I knew by heart. Like I could drive it with my eyes closed and I didn't even call and say I was coming. I just showed up like rain. Heck I never even went up the house and announced myself. I walked out towards the little meadow and went straight for the apiary. And I told the bees everything. And you just looked out that little window in your kitchen and let me be that thing in your life that just levitates right above the center of your heart.
bang bang you knocked me down and all my air fell out and I was a cartoon and stars circled my head twinkle twinkle and sometimes when I think about you my skin feels funny and I can't do basic math and I accidently spelled violet violent because my heart is a war game basically my heart is an organized conflict
If you lick your finger and put in the air, you can feel me.
I live in the wind speed of Ohio.
I live in every direction you turn.
“I just hope that one day—preferably when we’re both blind drunk—we can talk about it.”
— J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey
She holds her hand out and palm up shows him all the small things.
Pennies. Dust. A twig. A key. A guitar pick. Glitter. Red lipstick.
She wishes his eyes would become neon.
Her pockets lighter
she spins around and walks away
because sometimes as much as you want to say all the right words
the ones that would be bold
and blow up the whole thing
set it off
you just don't.