why is 11:11 the time to make a wish?

i make wishes all the time, 1:47, 8:29, 12:51; midnight, sunrise;

with dandelions, with shooting stars, with birthday candles;

with nothing at all but the closing of eyes and curling of fists

i am glad to say that you still make my heart feel funny sometimes

put on something i'd like to hear, don't give me a chance to say anything, and kiss me.

i live in the past sometimes but it's okay because it comforts my swelling heart and keeps me warm when i am naked to the core and shivering

"what we have isn't much but we are gonna figure it out. maybe not even we, maybe just me- but i'll get it right, even if i have to take my hands off the wheel and hurl headlong into the heart of an oak tree and nest myself back together in the deep dark shiver of this wretched earth; even if."

and for my final trick, i'll make everyone who loves me disappear. but i won't know how to bring them back.

with the birds i'll share this lonely view

take me, take me back to your bed. i love you so much that it hurts my head. i don't mind you under my skin. i'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in.

well, you're my favourite bird and when you sing. i really do wish that you'd wear my ring. no matter what they say, i'm still the king. and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming.

trying to make sense of my thoughts but getting nowhere, so i guess i'll just breathe in the future and take this one step at a time and forget about everything that doesn't matter and concentrate on those moments that may be fleeting but are actually worth my time and attention span

why does every single fucking thing piss me off

i needed a night like tonight so desperately.

"i cannot describe how beautiful it is, to feel the very thing that keeps you alive beat against my chest."

i get this feeling every once in awhile, in the pit of my stomach, that i can honestly never explain. it's not painful. it's unsettling. it's this feeling that every thought i've ever had, and every emotion that i've ever felt, has all gathered and pinpointed in this one specific area in my stomach. it sounds absolutely ridiculous, even when i think about it to myself, but it happens so often and there's no other way i can express it. it's just simply an indescribable feeling. all my emotions are battling each other, every man for himself, using my thoughts as shields and swords. it's overwhelming and it bothers me to no end. it makes me want to create something. but, since there's no way that i can realistically describe it, there's no way i can make something of it. am i mad? am i scared? am i content? i can't figure it out. i just want to make sense of it all.

You know when you’re tired and cold and maybe a little bit scared. And you force yourself to have a shower because it’s the only thing that makes sense. You can feel the kind of goosebumps that sit just under your skin trying to tingle their way into your consciousness. To trick you into thinking you’re more lonely than you actually are. Like they are pointing out the vacant places. Places that no one else’s loving fingertips have grazed for too many nights.

So you’re there, directly under the stream and you tilt your head back with closed eyes and open mouth. Every trickle of every drop tickling every nerve in every inch of your tired body. And you lean your head slightly to the side. Just a little. Just enough. And you feel the water run down your ear and neck. Pooling in your clavicle then slowly spilling down your chest, following every curve of your body to the gap between your thighs. Engulfed by steam and the tender way it lingers in the air, lapping at the places the cascade falling from the showerhead can’t quite reach. Resting in the sway of your back and the gap in your lips. The warmth engulfs your body completely. And suddenly you’re lost somewhere you can’t explain and all you need is those full lips on the skin between your ear and jaw again.

i've always wondered - do fears hold us back from doing things or do they help us move forward in our attempt to overcome them?

i don't ever want to feel like i'm stuck in a place where i have no motivation or chance to move forward.

my breaths gradually getting softer

as i slip into a hazy dream

i feel you rustling in your sleep behind me

restless, reeling with thoughts

you're absent-minded but aware

as i move in closer you react

we're intoxicated

drowsy

young

exhausted

but your touch is tender

i can remember it with every detail

almost like a phantom on my skin as i write this

despite being a fleeting moment in the dark

you do that to me

you stay

like a scar on my flesh

leaving a mark that triggers cobwebby nostalgia

from those quiet nights

that i love the most

this is messy and scattered so bare with me.

although i always complain of being either too hot or too cold, i keep my window open to hear the rain and the wind. i can't remember the last time i've had three square meals in a day, and i drink too much coffee, but i make up for it in the excessive amount of clementines i eat. i spend too much time online, drifting away into other peoples' worlds of well-written sentences and beautiful photographs wishing i had the courage and inspiration to follow suit. i go through periods of self-loathing, like anyone does, but who ever heard of an artist making something spectacular when they were perfectly happy? i bruise too easily, and my hair grows too slowly, but i can't do anything about those things. my attention span has gotten shorter because of the internet, and i can do something about that. i appreciate 'the little things' and i try to avoid making a big ordeal about myself or any situation i'm in whenever possible. i can't sleep without saying goodnight to someone, and i'm trying to not let myself go to sleep mad at the world. i'm affected by words that make me feel nostalgic about something i never actually had, and this concept is weird to me, but i'll never let myself become immune to someone elses' happiness. i want to see the world, and i know everyone says that, but i really do. i want to wade through water and stand on mountains and feel tall grass against my bare legs and understand how fucking big the world is and how incredible it is to explore every inch of it. i'm trying to better myself not for anyone else, but for me, because this life was not meant for me to be good enough for other people, it was meant for me to be good enough for myself.

i love you

hiding behind that wall of constant aggravation wanting nothing more than to be relieved by soft kisses and warm whispers

nothing makes me feel more at ease than little reminders that i am involved in something tangible and true

there is nothing i hate more than wanting to write and say something and despite racking my brain endlessly i cannot bring myself to type anything remotely interesting or important.

perfectly content wallowing in self-pity as my immune system dwindles down the drain with drizzling rain outside my open window and beach house playing through my speakers but i really would like a companion. someone with chocolate covered strawberries, preferably.

i feel anxious for an unknown reason and i just want to listen to the album leaf and lie in cold grass under a starry sky with kind words in my mind to keep me warm.

i'm exhausted and hungry and completely out of it right now but i miss talking to you about the stupidest shit and then kissing you even though you are sorta retarded and then taking three hours to say goodnight when we promised we would go to sleep early. words can't really express how happy you make me and that's okay because sometimes words aren't necessary. there are three little words that i like though. and i'd like to hear them right now when i'm cold and lonely in this uncomfortable bed that isn't all that far away from you but sometimes feels like it's across the world.

and we learn

as we age

we've learned nothing

and my body still aches

and you take

'cause they give

though i love you

and my body it leaks like a sieve.

"people have a mine of information at their fingertips, instructions on how to do and make and be things and yet we all choose to sit here and keep scrolling and clicking in our bedrooms."

just wanna drape your face with kisses and finally sleep soft

i'm changing, i hold my head to keep from shaking

my hands are full, but i'm not

i'm changing, i hold myself to keep from shaking

these hands are done, but i'm not

and i'm not full, but i'm not done either - just trying to hear what i need to see

and if i see it i promise i'll let you hear it - and if you'll listen then i'm all ears

these hands weren't made for us - but they'll grab at every will we conjure up

my hands weren't built for me - but they still burn the ground enough

acting like they want to be found, just to go and hide again

these hands are all to blame, tearing where it needs to mend

each finger bent in shame, knuckles every shade of white

our hands are all the same, over our face to cover our eyes

my passports all worn out, if you need these hands they're all for you

i don't know what i want, but i know what i don't want to do

now i can see that her blood's red and she's got feelings and they both always get spilled without thinking

i just want a fucking typewriter already. i think i'm going to buy one soon.

i want to no longer depend on the internet for attention or affection or anything selfish and egotistical.