That Weird Girl Who Sits Behind You In Class

Oh well, she’ll realize it when I become a sexual deviant drug addict with a lust for virginal blood or an atheist.

I still cry when I watch MCR’s ‘The Ghost of You’ and Bambi.

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
          In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
          What peaches and what penumbras!  Whole families
shopping at night!  Aisles full of husbands!  Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?

          I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
          I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops?  What price bananas?  Are you my Angel?
          I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
          We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

          Where are we going, Walt Whitman?  The doors close in
an hour.  Which way does your beard point tonight?
          (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
          Will we walk all night through solitary streets?  The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.

          Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
          Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

5$*

Is literally one of the cleanest areas in Philly. I shit you not.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare sieze the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art. 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did he smile his work to see? 
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

*Another favorite

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

*This has to be one of my favorite poems. I have no idea why.

No, I don’t regret it.

I am finally 18. 

iamdonaldtour:

I can’t talk right now.

I barely knew the guy from a can of paint and I only had about two classes with him throughout my whole high school career. he was insanely aloof and only talked once in our shared class. His passing shook the whole school. Almost everyone cried throughout the school day (sans a select few). The whole day was emotionally charged, I had never felt so exhausted from the grieving and sadness of others. I had not felt I deserved the right to grieve, I sat in each of my classes stonily as my classmates broke down one by one. I described it in a text as, “Sadness shrouds everyone’s shoulders like a cape” (incredibly cheesy I know, but I was running on two hours of sleep and no coffee). 

While driving home I explained to my dad in the kindest tone I could muster that I was,”[…] not in the mood to talk”. His response was a flippant,”Oh please […] people die everyday”. I never wanted to slam someones head into a driver’s wheel so badly. HE WAS ONLY 17 YEARS OLD. This kid had his own company and invested stocks in ways that I thought were impossible. I could only WISH to attain what my classmate attained in his 17 yrs in 45 yrs. I came home and shed a few tears after that. Yes, people die everyday (especially young) but that does not lessen the pain and heartbreak his friends and family feel. Not in the least. When a person feels the grief of a whole school or family it changes the situation by ten fold, whether you were acquainted with the deceased or not. Death touches everyone’s life in some way or form everyday. How someone deals with death is personal and it is not up to anyone else to provide a solution for coping. People must learn to cope in their own (healthy) way. The best you can do for someone in mourning is to offer a tissue, a message of love and understanding, a hug, and some alone time. Nothing else. For some today was a day for grief and for others a day for remembrance. For many it was a day for both.

…..is a sexy lumberjack

Don’t ever laugh when a hearse goes by,
Or you may be the next to die.

They wrap you up in a bloody sheet,
And bury you under about six feet.

All goes well for a couple of weeks,
But then your coffin begins to leak.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, 
The worms play pinochle on your snout.

Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And puss comes out of you like whipped cream.

You lap it up with a piece of bread,
And that’s what you eat when you are dead.

Reading Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (constantly) definitely didn’t help my fear of the dark as a kid…..was I masochistic or what?

I feign anaphylactic shock whenever I have to tell my mom I took the last cookie.