Hell or Glory ☼


Recipes for not crying yourself to sleep:

1. Do not sleep.
2. Do not cry.
3. Pop something to get to sleep.
4. Think of things that make you happy, then remember that they are all far out of reach.
5. Call a friend, then remember you have none available.
6. Listen to music, then remember that everything reminds you of the reasons you are sad.
7. Pop more, to sleep longer, and feel less.
8. Cry. A lot.
9. Drink until you feel numb.
10. Pop enough to sleep indefinitely, cry over an empty bottle, wrap yourself in the blanket you stole to keep you comfortable instead of unraveling you from tip to toe, look at your reflections in all the diamonds you own: Why aren’t you happy? Why are your dreams so empty and your thoughts so full? Why is your heart so heavy and your mind so dull? Where do you begin once it is the end?


I am sick of buying stamps and licking envelopes and waiting for the goddamn mail every day
Just to know that you’re doing okay,
It is 2014, communication shouldn’t be this way
And sometimes I wonder why I stay with you
Sometimes I wonder how I ever lived without you
But most of the the time I wonder who I’ve turned into
Because your hurricane has rattled my ribcage, and like atoms, I’ve been rearranged into someone new
Change is constant but I’m not sure what to do
When my body doesn’t feel like my own anymore,
When home doesn’t feel like home anymore
I am floating, the debris of your wreckage
We skip like tracks on a record, but your track record is shaky
Like fault lines for earthquakes
Maybe we are tectonic plates
Converging, or digressing I don’t know
You are a sinkhole
And I am falling in, but I’m more used to falling over or falling out.
I am a girl who has only ever seen the sun, but you showed me the skies, the stars that you keep in your eyes, and every shade of gray that precipitation can produce. I have cried as often as it rains.
I have spent too many days waiting for your letters, waiting for your calls, waiting for the rain, or anything to change, anything at all.

Wow throwback, found this in my draftbox from forever ago, it’s like poem turned rap. I dig it. On a completely unrelated note: it’s 11:11 in AZ


His middle name is Thomas, and it rolls off my tongue quicker than his last because I’m always getting it wrong.
Blue eyes and lips like velvet, he’s my modern day Elvis. And sometimes I swear that he’s perfect, despite the existence of that word. And I know that he is worth it, despite my luck in this world. I am a skeptic and a liar and a broken up, beaten down disbeliever. But part of me thinks that he makes all of it easier and the problem is my brain and my heart are in protest and when organs go to war there’s no rest for the poor body they reside in, and it is sad when I’ve finally decided, that I can not ever have my way. I can not have you, but I will try to because I am horribly misconceived and terribly infatuated, horrendously intrigued and wonderfully saturated in everything he has to offer. It is beyond kindred spirits, it is the four words I refuse to say, and the two things that I value the most. He is good vibes and good smells, like my favorite incense and I am walking on eggshells hoping not to break anything other than myself, because I deserve it or because I have bad luck, I don’t know, but for him, I can’t say no. I am so scared of falling, because I’ve been doing it for 10 months straight. And it is hard enough to keep picking myself back up, it is hard enough already being in love. I want you, and I know I shouldn’t want to. His voice, is enough to weaken my knees, and by the skin of my teeth I will scrape by, with chest heaving, lungs barely breathing, I will skate by, shins bleeding and thinking that I could have it all if I wasn’t so afraid to pick up the phone and call, and tell you all of the things I’m too scared to feel cause if I say it out loud, then that must make it real. I know that you’re a keeper, but I can’t afford to get any weaker and never deserved to be a speaker but they put me on a pedestal and kept inflating my ego. Now I talk like I know it all, and it sounds so good. I wish I knew it all, even if it means I’m no good.
You know it y’all


I want you to believe I am perfect.
I want you to do all the things you think will make me smile.
I want you to want to make me happy. But you don’t, although there was a time when you did.
And I can’t make you feel something that you don’t.
I can’t make you do things that I know you won’t. I can’t change you.
People are not projects, I don’t know when I will learn that I can’t bring the broken things home and replace the parts and make believe they’re the same as new again like I did when I was young.
Infantile, my mind still functions the same, like clockwork, like the hands on the clock have done nothing for me like I am still eight years old picking up bugs with broken wings.
I cannot keep giving shelter to these broken things.
I fall asleep unwanted, and wanton, this jaw slowly slacks.
Your tongue wanders, but you only lick the wounds that you, yourself inflicted. We are down to brass tacks, and black slacks, this is not a job. This should not take so much work.
One would think that love comes easy, and smooth like orange creamsicles, not so difficult and scalding like your sunburns. I keep telling you to wear sunscreen,
I keep telling you I am not okay.
This is not okay.
We are not okay.
I keep telling you but you do not listen, and you are always yelling at me.
Failure to listen is so much different than failure to hear because one of them is a conscious choice.
I am sorry I do not hear you, but I am more sorry you choose not to listen to me.
I am more sorry for everything and maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe I’m the problem.
When you smile in your sleep I know it is not because you are dreaming of me.
I could only hope that you think of me while you’re awake, as unlikely as that is.
I could only hope that I am enough, but I am never enough.
There is always another girl, another problem, another excuse for them to cling to.
There is always something else. And they always tell you that it will be better, that they will be better, that they will try harder.
I am in the business of words but I know that they don’t mean as much to everyone else, I know that they mean next to nothing coming from anyone else.

I am sorry I want so much, it is only because I’ve been given so little.


I just want to be wanted or needed or something in between.

Letters that will never be sent: Part I have too many to count



First of all, today is your birthday. I wanted to get you a typewriter, so that you could write up all of your poems and stories and dreams and letters. I wanted to take you on a trip, away from all your bullshit. I wanted you to be here. 

Your mind is somewhere else, lost, on vacation, I don’t know, but I really need you to come home because it’s bad out here. I need my partner in crime back. Nobody else will do the hoodrat shit we do. And every time I look at my tattoo, I miss home, and I miss you. Damn it I miss you. And I feel like I put you where you are, like somehow you needed to be put in your place and I wish I could take back that night, I wish they didn’t take you away. I wish that we were cruising around, down Electric Road, I just fucking wish you could come home. 

Chance barks all the time, and I wish you would meow at my door. I tear up every time I see a Honda Accord, and I can’t even listen to our songs without feeling sore.

I don’t know that I can write any more, because of the hurt and the guilt and every damn thing else.

I miss you, 

Happy birthday baby girl.

This is only a fraction of everything, I only wish you knew. Get well, and I’ll see you soon. 

Days in VA: 270


It’s almost been a whole year. And it sure has been awhile. This year has definitely been interesting, to say the least. I did not learn very much in school, but I’ve learned a lot in life. Sexuality is relative, as is everything else. I’ve lost someone I love very much due to distance. I’ve dated a girl. I’ve had two people I love very much incarcerated. I’ve fallen in and out and in and out and upside down in love. I’ve been run over. I got my first traffic ticket. I’ve had one of my best friends institutionalized for mental health, or rather lack thereof. It’s her birthday today. and I love her so much and it hurts so bad because I feel partially responsible for her psychotic break. I quit school, at least for the semester. I’ve broken my ankle. I’ve lost a lot, in people, in assets, in morals, in every aspect of my life, I have been knocked down, from whatever pedestal or level I was once on. I am miserable. There are few things that make me happy. I have made a lot of poor decisions. I miss home more than ever. I have been sleeping on a couch for a few months. The company I keep are either crazy, assholes, pending felons, or old people, or any combination of the aforementioned. My biggest problem is that in trying to fix everyone and everything else I have ruined myself. I desperately need to get my shit together in regards to everything. I know that I can and I very much have to pull myself up by my bootstraps because it is the times when you hit rock bottom that you realize most what matters. The world has pushed me to my breaking point, and then some and it’s time for me to start pushing back. I have broken so many times in so many places that it is a wonder I am sane (and only barely so). I recognize that while yes, I’ve been dealt quite the shitty hand, these are all consequences from decisions I’ve made, or some sort of karmic retribution, I don’t know. My family is getting along without me, as much as I want to be home and am constantly made to feel guilty about my being here. I have made some promises that have gotten me in trouble and because of the sincerity I keep in my words, I refuse to break them no matter how bad of a situation they have put me in. My fatal flaws are endless. I am still hopelessly hopeful, and I hope that is something I never lose. I may have strayed from the path I originally intended for myself, but I haven’t lost sight of my goals and my future. So, in conclusion, I am a mess, but I own it. I am done being down on myself, the only place to go from here is up. I won’t say it can’t get worse, because every time I do, the universe proves me wrong, but i have faith that it will get better, and that the only way out is through. I am coming home soon, but I am not running away. I am here, in the middle of bumfuck roanoke, standing tall at five foot two, on my broken ass ankle, saying bring it on, world, what else you got? I may have quit school but I’ve earned a degree from the school of hard knocks and I have felt the struggle and I’m gonna continue to struggle until the day I leave this shit town but I’m gonna get out, just like I always do. The end, for now, at least.


It is 2 pm and I’m crying, I have been crying since 2 am. I am so sick of being strong. I am so sick of being the only one who has to hold myself together. This year was supposed to be my good year. Two of my best friends are in jail, one of my best friends just got admitted into a mental institution, and the other two are 2000 miles away. I look at my body in the mirror, and I’ve got these marks, that tell me not to panic, that tell me that everything is always gonna change, that show me where home is, and right now, all I want is to rip them off. I want to break down, I want to throw my hands up in the air because I haven’t got anything better to do but I can’t because I have to be there for everyone else but I have no one to be there for me.
Im just done. 

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