I realized today what the trouble with love is.

It’s that you don’t know what it is you’re looking for until you find it.  

Aug 17, 2012 AT 11:25PM · 2 notes

A free verse poem from my sophomore year, apparently?

I spy with my little eye,
a secret that the rest of them
have yet to spot.  
As a flowery thought
floats down from a tree, 
I can’t tame my mind’s frame, nor procure what it needs.
Its boundaries are bending
and bursting at the very heart
of the matter.  
I wish I could write you a song.  
I could arrange an orchestra to live their lives
just for you.   
If only my mouth were as quick as my tongue.  
So many words ceasing to exist on its very tip.  
Oh, how they ache for that rightful trip.  
Just like the soul aches for love,
or the body splits for the world above.  
We wish that life could be short, sweet, and to the point.   
I suppose someone has not yet found reason to grant
such a foolish desire.  
We only wish to admire.  
Your eyes burn in the dark like circles of fire.  
What is length, without the brief?  
What is the sweet without the sweat and tears that decay our whole hearts?
What is the point at all without the quest to find it,
even if after all we do come out on the other side with a decaying heart?
Stand beside the lonely form of everyone
who feels just like you.  
Life is lived forever.  
Hearts are grown together.  
It’s all a game of hide and seek.  
You’re it.   

Aug 01, 2012 AT 11:56PM · 1 note

My parents’ shouting voices.  I’m biting my lips.  Furrowing my brow at a computer screen.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop.  I’m eight years old, again.  I’m crouching by their bedroom door.  Or balled up in the hallway.  Or hiding by the fridge.  Crying.  Wanting to cry out.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop.  How could they listen, though?  My parents’ shouting voices are too loud.  My parents’ shouting word choices, too pricked.  And why would you take the time to wonder if the kids can hear you when you can threaten not to sleep at home, instead?

Jul 18, 2012 AT 11:52PM · 1 note

I am stretching myself out in a gooey moment of pure languidity.

The noun form of “languid” is technically supposed to be “languidness”, but fuck that.  Why is languidity not a word?

But really, though.  Don’t you ever just take a look around a second of your life and get some certain word stuck inside of your head?  One that just seems to flawlessly describe that single moment in time?  And it’ll repeat itself over and over again, in your head, like an embarrassing memory, or a catchy song?  That happens to me, on occasion, and now is one of those.  It’s just that the quintessence of this moment, right now, takes the shape of the word “languid”, and therefore, it is re-speaking itself in my head, on a ceaseless loop.  Which is why I am just stretching myself out in this gooey moment of pure languidity, and soaking it up.  Even though languidity isn’t a word.  :|

Oh and on a side but semi-related note:  isn’t languid just a fucking awesome word?  It’s one of those words that sounds like it ought to.  Like doesn’t the word “languid” just sound languid?  Isn’t just a languid-sounding word?  I thought so.

Jun 11, 2012 AT 4:42PM · 1 note

Thoughts on my view from the ground. (I laid down in the grass and wrote, tonight.)

Dim, faint pricks in the sky, connected by invisible threads and wires, hanging like massive, distant mobiles.  It makes me sad, knowing that not every star is part of a constellation.  But, still, no one could call them alone.  Or maybe they’re all alone.  They all live lightyears away from one another or something, don’t they?   Either way, they’re still part of that huge, dark sheet of pinholes, suspended over our heads.  It is for this reason that making pictures of connect-the-dots with the stars is stupid:  they’re all part of the same big, brilliant picture.  

And really, who are we to say which stars are connected and which stars aren’t?  Very honestly, we don’t know them like that.  What if the gems in Orion’s belt have hated each other for a thousand years?  What if the handle of the Little Dipper has been divorced for a hundred lifetimes?  We wouldn’t know about it, that’s for sure.  Maybe they’re all just waiting for each other to burn out—maybe it’s all just a brutal competition to see who can shine the longest before they combust.  

And what of the jet planes that come moseying through every once in a while, to remain only for a moment and then mosey away?  Nothing, I suppose.  They only seem to be stars, to us, for a second or two.  The real stars would laugh at those jet planes; they would know that they are fake.  They are still part of the picture we receive, though, if only for a short while.  

I’ve thought a lot lately about how nature is the afterlife, I think, and that, even once we die, we will live here forever, because our bodies will continue to recycle themselves, even once our debatable souls have departed.  Nature is the afterlife, though.  No one can deny that.  It’s the afterlife that we’ll exist in, for eternity, along with everything else that has ever existed.  Like the stars.  Even the stars will be there in the afterlife, because even if eternity isn’t for the soul, it is for the body.  And we all remain part of the same big, brilliant picture.  

Mar 26, 2012 AT 11:10PM · 0 notes

A friend asked me why I dance. This is what I told her.

I dance because to dance is to open the channel between the body and the soul.  Dance is exploration, and expression.  No amount of sitting stagnant, attempting to reflect or figure yourself out can lead to as deeply-rooted an understanding of your heart as dancing might.  And no combination of rhyming words, brushstrokes, or music notes could ever share with others as raw and genuine a representation of your thoughts and emotions as dancing could.  I dance because everything inside of me is screaming that I’m meant to be an artist, and movement is my medium of preference  

Mar 07, 2012 AT 10:55PM · 3 notes

binds:

(by Rachel Bone)

You can try to find your enemies, but you can only try.  

binds:

(by Rachel Bone)

You can try to find your enemies, but you can only try.  

Sep 15, 2010 AT 9:03PM · Notes · Source

We were sisters, we all were.  

We were sisters, we all were.  

Sep 11, 2010 AT 12:37AM · Notes · Reblogged from merryandtragical

To feel like the sunshine.

To feel, to feel.

Sep 09, 2010 AT 10:33PM · 0 notes

Although your head is aching, keep it up.

We will be here to shut the sunlight from your eyes and press the static from your ears and make sure you know that things will be alright.  

Sep 07, 2010 AT 9:36PM · 0 notes