(Source: someguyandhisguitar, via myblueiris)
(Source: Spotify)
in your absence
i’ve read and thought and smiled and missed
more than i would’ve liked
sleeping off these withdrawal symptoms
just to wake and listen
to all these voices that aren’t
you
my mom
with her advice on blind dates
—or the art of being gypped
warning me against all this cinnamon
“your mouth’ll set on fire”
are we poster children?
i listen for a day, and
oh, mommies.
the recycling man, he
spoke in pennies that made
sense to him
“two hundred and forty pennies;
don’t spend them all in one place”
i didn’t.
i listened
like enzo listened,
and i didn’t have the words
(he didn’t have the voice)
for you, in my back pocket
nothing but karma, nothing but karma, i believe so
i’ll keep listening:
the music speaks in peppermint meadows,
singing tastes through my earbuds
and i’m listening, lying, chewing
cinnamon gum
dreaming,
dreams of somewhere
dreams of you
1. The world is trying to keep you stupid. From bank fees to interest rates to miracle diets, people who are not educated are easier to get money from and easier to lead. Educate yourself as much as possible for wealth, independence, and happiness.
2. Do not have faith in institutions to…
(via redyellow)
I haven’t been back for a week yet.
I miss Brown. The sass, the kisses, the dancing, the music, “tudo bem?,” the people, my friends, the trees, the fucking trees. It’s so beautiful and green and gorgeous over there right now, and I don’t know what changed, but California is no longer beautiful to me and no longer mine. I don’t know what I call home anymore. Brown? Brown’s my getaway home. I take frustrating walks here wishing I were on Governor. In Bristol. Bristol was three of the most perfect hours of my life, three hours I felt I really lived, in the way I wanted.
On Tuesday I was never so close to death, and I was such a coward. And every night since I’ve been having nightmares of dying. Me suffocating. Me getting shot. It, not hurting. It, searing pain. I don’t like it. I wake up with headaches.
I picked up The Art of Racing in the Rain yesterday and I can already tell it has so much to offer. I am going to learn something from it, I know, and I know it is going to change me somehow. Very few books do this. I’m excited. But what is this excitement when I can’t lose myself in these books or other people’s words and worlds, when they aren’t mine? I just want to get out of mine.
The amount of rebloggs on this is crazy! I really appreciate the love
(Source: jamjars, via fuckyeahslampoems)
i’ve never had a song that brought so much nostalgia. can i be back? can i be back?
(Source: Spotify)
