penisbuttersamwich

I spent autumn falling in love with the scent of your hair and distantly burning leaves, laying in the grass watching the world fly by and wondering if we could stay this way forever. Your skin was electric and your eyes were a drug and I held you closer, always pulling you closer, until I was high on everything about you. I spent winter dreaming of short-legged dresses, dancing to big band music late into the night. I dreamt of sharp fireworks and startling glances laced with traces of white powder. I dreamt that letting go was what was best. I dreamt I’d be free again. I dreamt we’d have magic again. But by winter I didn’t u

It is dusk and we are tired, or maybe this is the sunrise and we've been here all night, sharing stolen white rum and cigarettes and secrets. We lose time in this field in the hills, when our parents think we're sleeping but we are climbing too-tall trees and howling with coyotes and telling ourselves that tonight, we can be complete again. We are blood, this boy and I, we are natives in a sea of pilgrims and we do not yet speak their tongue; we are the dark eyed children who scream at night when they can no longer hear. As our smoke clears, I tell him the names of every constellation my crippled mind can remember and he tells me that six ho

Date a girl who will argue with you over which brand of pen is better. Who needs more RAM on her computer because of Word files, not game files. Who has two bookcases – one for filled notebooks and one for other author's works. Find a girl who writes. You know it's her because she'll always have a pen and a notebook with her. Occasionally a tape recorder. She's the one who would have as much fun at home on a Saturday night with her computer as she would out at a party. You see the weird girl sitting on a park bench looking engrossed in watching the people that walk? That's the writer. They watch people, how they act, they discover how

In her heart is room for you within each beat - She dreams of your accomplishment with every word; Hear her cry, "Do not give voice to your defeat!" She'll judge not if your home's a castle or the street; Your writing's a utensil, and her soul is stirred! In her heart is room for you within each beat. Each new member to her group, she's thrilled to greet! As she reads, her heart does sing just like a bird! Hear her cry, "Do not give voice to your defeat!" Her excitement is contageous - "This group is neat!" The buzz is loud as many ask, "Hey, have you heard?" In her heart is room for you within each beat. As a writer, if you struggle to f

Being an adult is like being a kid, I'm just taller when I make mistakes.