I used to stand on rooftops
and scream obscenities at the sky.
Tell whoever was up in the clouds that everybody hurts down here,
that everybody’s hurting and it’s not their fault.
And what did he want me to do anyways?

Sometimes I would sit there and scream at God
and he would answer me with clear nights and silence
and heart wrenching skies full of greek mythology.
Those nights I would sit there and breathe it all in and start believing in us again,
believing in humanity.

Other times I would sit there and scream at God
and get so worked up and fed up and choked up.
Sometimes I would sit there and scream at God
and just cry because everybody hurt so bad,
and those times he would scream right back at me with thunder and lightning,
to tell me that, yes, it was my fault,
that, yes, I could have done more.

He would pelt teardrops of rain down onto my head
and my upturned face and my skin,
in order to say that, yes, he knew,
and everybody’s hurting was hurting him too.

In Which Caleb and I Have a Disagreement About the Linguistic Qualities of that Dreaded Four Letter Word

Or: I Dump a Whole Load of Clichéd Shit Out of my Overcrowded Brain

i have a fundamental problem with the idea of falling in love.

it’s the nature of it, you see,

love doesn’t just happen,

you don’t just forget to tie your shoelaces one day, trip over them and fall into a puddle of it that someone has left laying around;

you don’t fall in love with someone, you love someone.

love is a verb and you have to work at it,

you have to act upon it.

and maybe it’s just because i’ve never been ‘in love’

or maybe it’s because i’m a frigid bitch with commitment issues and a ‘no regrets’ policy that makes justifying my actions really easy,

but a lot of what’s out there is bullshit.

these preconceived notions and stereotyped ideals built up by society,

we all want our sparkling knight in shining armour to waltz into our lives and sweep us off our feet and make everything better

but vampires don’t exist and forks, washington is just a rainy little town with lonely little people like you and me, struggling to do the best they can with what they’ve been given.

love is not a rainy little town and love is not a state and you can’t live in it;

it is something you have to live through.

they say that all’s fair in love and war

but when it comes down to it, love is war.

you have to fight for it every second of every minute of every day;

there is the fight for holding on and the fight for letting go

and the hardest thing i have ever experienced is learning the which and the when.

all i know is that you don’t fall in love,

you fight for it tooth and nail and you scream and you cry and you throw all abandon and pride and self respect to the wind for it.

you love actively and you love fully and those who have mastered the act love freely

and their lives are better for it.

i am slowly becoming a testament to this cause.

i have never been ‘in love’ but, for fuck sakes, i love my life and i love the people in it and i’ll be damned if you expect me to just sit here and bask in this state instead of projecting it back onto them a hundredfold.

my life is better for it and i am determined to make theirs all the better for it too.

“This one time, swine flu punched me in the face. It was awesome. 

Laurel Grochowski (via pieces-of-prose)

True story; that’s why my hair’s so big.

"The way to know life is to love many things." -Vincent Van Gogh

“The way to love life is to kiss many boys.” -Laurel Grochowski

Hey girl, I know that you live your life half-way between waking and dreaming and I envy that mentality,

But I also know that if you slip into sleep you’ll wake back up in reality.

It’s a lovely place to be,

Too tired to function:

But it’s your place,

It’s not meant for me.

I don’t have enough balance for that tightrope more often than not,

Fine lines are meant to be painted on eyelids, not meant to be walked.

You know the crash is coming, soon fourty winks will shrink to twenty,

The ringing in the distance? That’s sleep calling and girl you need plenty.

So stop toeing that line;

Get your eight-hours in,

For once in your life spend a night devoid of restless thoughts

And tangled sheets:

A night devoid of sin.

Maybe this time when you wake up everything will still seem just as lovely,

I’M TOO TIRED FOR THIS AND I CAN’T WRITE WORTH SHIT LATELY SO FUCK OFF, DON’T JUDGE ME.

Two Big Hearts in a Twin Sized Bed

We blame our cold feet on bad circulation but, who are we kidding? Our hearts are big and they are strong; it’s not that they can’t physically do their job, it’s just that we would have them beat for a greater purpose. The blood rushes towards all the spots on my body that you have ever touched; light brushes of fingers in passing leave pools of hot peppermint tea in my collarbones and my cheeks blush from the heat of your kisses and a strong hand on my lower back leaves me warm and sure and there is not enough blood in my body to cover all of the fleeting tactile memories and shared exchanges so my feet remain frigid, wrapped up in cashmere socks and tucked under the soft duvet. We’ve always been afraid of commitment; the irony of this clichéd existence is not lost on us. We’ll wear our socks and put on our brave faces and go out into the cold world day after day if it means we get to have your warm body lying next to us at night every once in a while. We wouldn’t sell our soul to the devil, but we know a good thing when we see one, and we will take you up on that offer every time.

I Hate Everything That I Write Lately

Probably because I also hate everything that I’ve become.

Good words only come to good people.

“See, this is the first one I grew.
When I caught not swine, but avian flu. some dumb guy i know who texts me when I’m sick and feeds me nutella and turns into a weepy bitch when we listen to Shane Koyczan together

Things That You Can Do With an Undergraduate Degree in English

After a year and a half of classes and a week of not going to bed until 4am and looking through a month old loaf of flax this morning to find a piece that wasn’t covered in mold and eating Nutella for dinner more than once this week combined with the fact that I’m currently wearing sweatpants tucked into furry moccasin boots in the worst example of a poor excuse for style that I’ve ever even considered putting on my body, I finally feel like a university student.

And I finally feel like, I’ve finally realized, I have no fucking idea why I’m here.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out, air empty with silence filled the room, swirling around their bodies and pressing down upon her gooseflesh. We don’t know what we want, just that it isn’t this. A generation with nothing to say and nothing better to do with our long, silent nights than to press our mouths to the warm body lying next to us.

This shampoo bottle lifestyle of restless days spent cooped up in her shoe-box of an apartment is not what she expected it to be. The lather-rinse-repeat of kissing the same boy every night and sleeping through her alarm because she has nothing to look forward to about tomorrow or even the day after is not the college co-ed dream that she painted for herself as a young girl. We all want to be loved and we all want security but there is a price to pay for the things society teaches us to value.

A generation who has grown up in silent acceptance of the life thrust upon us by the expectations of those that came before, we fill our sleepless nights with empty kisses and our days with hollow classes. We strive for degrees, pieces of paper that entitle us to nine-to-five desk jobs and a husband and a condo in the suburbs with two point five children for a life of stability and predictability and cigarette butts littering the coffee table ashtray.

And you wonder why we drink and fuck and scream until our voice cracks now? Because in a couple years, lying in the dark next to someone in a king size bed, some man who she wishes was a stranger, she will feel her life closing in on her with every breath that she takes and it will be too late. She will breathe in and breathe out in a steady rhythm so as not to disturb his similarly restless night and then she will get up when her alarm rings at 6:45am to wash her hair and feed the kids and go to work. Lather-rinse-repeat.