"depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. one time i went a whole year without writing and i stayed in bed and drank. fuck your bukowskisms. i want sunlight and love and running down some street i’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and i’m smiling. i want nothing to ever be bad again- and i don’t mean that i want a life free of conflict, i mean that i want a life free of meaningless conflict. not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. there is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. my heart is stale, my prose is stale. give me fire if you want to hurt me. give me something i can taste. there’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where i am. there’s nothing here worth holding onto."
— Joshua Espinoza (via doubtsbestally)
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Life and Times of a Wannabe Author: the truth

writing-writing-writing:

The truth is – nights are most difficult.
Nights when my bed becomes an island
adrift in nothing.

The truth is a constant struggle
retuning my heart strings
searching for the impossible pitch.

Longing without words.

The truth is – between the spaces
and misconnections, a small…

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Life and Times of a Wannabe Author: a passionate typographer's love song

writing-writing-writing:

Harmonious clicks and flicks of the space bar.
My fingers frolic and glide across
oily plastic.
The loveliest sound of all.

Each motion summons
black silhouettes of language
as each gentle push of square
dunks and dips the tips of their serifs
into the white ocean of paper.

Each new…

an oldie  but a goodie

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glutton

I grow weary of this consumptive heart of mine. Weary of the empty promises of “this time will be different” even though we both know I am a terrible liar. Weary of echoed romantic mishaps. We tell ourselves mistakes happen so we learn. If I stubbornly repeat them - what’s the lesson there? A glutton for punishment, prehaps? If gluttonous, then I am a glutton gorged on the feast of romance. I wantonly devour hearts in vain hopes they will satiate my insatiable hunger. I descend upon affection as a starved creature driven half-mad with craving.

Love is not a destructive fire ablaze with passion; all consuming. That is lustful attraction. I must not mistake that fickle heat for the true nourishment I crave. Love’s light comes from the small, comforting glow; warming on even the chilliest of nights. When I am with you, I wonder: have I found it at last? I have been wrong so often before; I so fiercely want to be right. If it is love, then I must proceed with more caution. I must kindle and maintain this joyful spark, but also remember not to smother in my desperation to be ever closer. I must keep my gluttonous nature in control, my love, or I fear it will consume us both.

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the after math

Decimation in my chest.
All that remains from our burning,
consuming,
destroying love.
The inferno was short lived,
subsided,
asphyxiated by your icy words.
I’m left to suffocate in the ashes.
Soon, rekindled by a gentler
nurturing soul.
The newborn embers smolder in my heart.
Warm.
I bask in the amber glow.

Our love was an inferno engulfing
and maiming.
His love is a campfire I toast marshmallows over


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adventure time poem i forgot i wrote last year in poetry class:

Evil Ice King kidnapping princesses.

Like icicles in winter, his fragile grasp cannot hold them for long.

Can Finn save them? He must. He promised.

But even the bravest warriors fear water.

Swimming across the frozen moat,

Princess Bubblegum’s kiss ignited his courage.

Finn yells

“Give them back, you gigantic snowball!”

Day saved once more by Batman in a cat hat

and Robin the yellow dog.

An adventurer minus his dog equals one lonely guy.

Jake the dog and Finn the human, the fun never ends.

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my body is a battleground of beauty products and hormones

She resents her body

for needing

constant upkeep.

Bathing. Plucking. Shaving.

Victory lost after a good night’s sleep.

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haiku #2

the look in your eye
the way that you say her name
the text messages

you disagree, but
she’s there. in your cornea.
perched on your eyelash 

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haiku #1

illreligious muse
you fill my brain to the rim
with a single glance

please, just keep it all

keep your poisoned words
spoiled mana from above
it churns my stomach 

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i’ve never thought of God as living in a palace. jesus wasn’t sent to earth to be a literal prince. he was the prince of peace. he was a poor carpenter. i’ve always seen God as valuing hard work over privlege and a cozy home over a palace. heaven, to me, was never crystal castles. it was a place you felt safe and calm. with fields of flowers and lakes so blue.
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