schmana
Scatterings of the best advice I've collected: / Never apologize for the written word. / If you break up once, do not get back together. / Never trust a church goer. / Use exclamation points wisely. (!) / / Lover of words and all the lessons. / / Can find me here: / novegansallowed.com
We're just ******* in the
mountains, like a couple of
mountains wolves biting into each others
flesh and having the greatest
meal of all time. 4,000 feet above the
sea-level is where we like to **** the most,
because the breeze cools our sweat
and only the birds can hear our
howls.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
I could have,
Should have,
But if I would have
Listened to the thunderous voices in my
Gut—
I wouldn’t have to regret these words
That left my mouth
Prematurely, unfiltered
Rolling off my childish tongue.
Eating bagel bites,
I heard the words
*“I think I am
Falling in love
With you.”*
The deepest sinking feeling in my chest,
Without a breath of clarity,
Or a drip of saliva
To swallow my lies,
I spit out the words
“I love you too…”
My instant regret.
He took a breath of relief
As if he was holding this in
For a lifetime.
What the actual ****
What am I saying?
What am I doing?
How do my words affect others?
I ****** his whole world up.
Three simple words,
Power in simplicity—
Use them wisely,
Invest with care.
You never know how much you can
**** someone’s world up–
Make them go crazy,
Make yourself go crazy with regret.
Three simple words:
I love you.
I loved you.
BUT—
I was not in love with you.
****
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Mom loves the huckleberries
Picks ‘em up in the mountains,
Says it’s her therapy.
Swear she can sniff ‘em out like a bear,
Got a snouzer on her or something—
Always knows where they are hidden
But she says,
“Dad guides me.”
Always thought that was funny,
But he loved those hucks
Almost as much as his kids.
Maybe that’s why she goes up there…
To say hi,
Hang out with Dad,
Pick some berries,
******** about life,
Tell him his girls are doing just fine.
Huck heaven is what we say
When we find a good patch.
Can sit in there for hours…
Mom loves it.
Love this about mom.
Mom my rock.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
They always placed me here:
In the outfield,
With the dandelions
And the cartwheels.
Spinning round and round,
Until Rachel shouted,
"Hannah, kick it! Kick it!"
The ball was huge,
Ginormous—
A little Pluto.
I kicked it with all my might
Straight towards the grey city
With the tall skyscrapers
And pins and needles
Shooting towards the sky.
I promise you,
I didn't mean to.
But little Pluto came crashing down
On your city
And with the weight,
I killed you.
A little dandelion kick
And you were gone.
In your will,
You bought me a ticket to Paris
And $1,000 to spend on cheese.
But I couldn't leave.
I tried to confess
How much I forgive you
For using your words
When you were alive,
To exploit me.
But the sounds are caught in my throat
Clenched by my unruly fists,
Unable to unravel themselves
Into spoken word.
My lips mutter,
“I’M SO SORRY”
In big letters—
But the sound does not escape.
I crushed you with a dandelion kick,
And after all of this—
You still remembered my dream
And held onto me,
Placed me in your will.
Then I awoke—
Not in Paris,
Not shoving Brie in my face
Not wearing the heels I packed.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
Trendy, it is
to be unattached.
Just *******
nothing else to it.
It simply is-
just *******
I can ****
whoever I want
whenever I want
because that's what ******* feminism is, right?
To use my ******
and my body
in any way I
******* please.
My ***** my choice, right?
I can flash my ****
show everyone my piercings-
and then demand respect.
Because that's what feminism is, right?
My body, my choice.
No.
My body, my ******* church.
When the **** did love go out of style?
All these trendies
just *******
making just ******* a style,
persuading everyone to think it's ******* great
to expose your deepest self
to someone who doesn't even know
how you take your coffee.
All these ******* can't
**** me
the way a ******* lover
can love me-
blow my *******
brains out
shoot me to the *******
stars
tie me up
suffocate me
in the most intoxicating feeling
that'll make your *****
tingle
in jubilant joy-
make you never wanna ****
with any other
******
because they can't shoot you to the ******* stars
in ******
the way that love can.
****** is more than just
*******
When the **** did it become cool to give little pieces of yourself to all the little ******* who never could make you come?
When the **** did it become cool to stop loving?
To stop caring?
To stop respecting?
Your body, your choice
Your ***** your choice
Your **** your choice.
Your life, your choice.
But nothing is as good as love is-
nothing can make you feel better
like a good lover can.
Nothing can bring you up,
make you shine,
build your respect,
and **** you-
as good
as good love can.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
They always tell kids
"Just wait until you're ready"
Really wish I did.
Don't know why with you
You asked: "is this your first time?"
Face down on your bed.
In the north of Spain
Would travel to you again
Still sends me postcards.
The worst thing happened,
Never really felt the same.
Changed my whole world up.
My first ******
I will love you forever
Think I was on top.
You were just one night
Ripped apart ******* ******
You weren't very good.
Bad night in April.
Had *** with an old friend,
The absolute worst.
Eating bagel bites
He told me that he loved me,
I really didn't.
Margarita mix
The next day you left for France
You were really big
Have this **** buddy
Only a daytime thing though,
Sees my whole body.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC
I loved a man named Alex once
was a kiteboard instructor in Hood River.
Things are sour now,
Real fuckin' bad.
But he makes an appearance every so often.
Met a man at the bar tonight
introduced himself as Alex,
strike one.
Said he was visiting from Hood River,
strike two.
Asked: "you windsurf?"
Said: "no, kite."
****
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Jagged little pill
cigarette
wannabe
days like these
smudge
your lipstick.
truth is-
don't like the ******
like it hard,
hard I like.
Rough.
Big.
Men.
Make you eat it
don't mind
long as I can
top it
**** your life up
**** sandwich
put mustard all over
clover sprouts
salt- pepper
say you hate it
musta ****** up
whip cream queen
dazzle delight
raspberry rhubarb
jam
make me feel things
faster
**** ****
french fries at midnight
brown beers
falafel *****
dynasty drunks
swear you're the one
only one
jive to my beast
keep up my
********
eat me out
for hours-
Love you.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Here I sit
in this big blue chair
where thousands have sat before.
stories of them
exist in graffiti marks
saying:
**** you"
"I'm so bored"
and perhaps
my favorite,
"I must not tell lies"
**** you.
I think I'll always think that.
Even sitting in this big blue chair
I cannot escape you.
The words remind me of your constant presence
even though you're gone
you're still here.
Taking up space.
I could make my own imprint
and etch,
**** you, still"
but it wouldn't do justice.
That's only part of our story
and I don't want to confuse others
because at one time
I would have wrote:
"Love you, always."
I'm so bored
of the excuses
the should haves
could haves
but if you would have
I wouldn't have to listen
To your mind jabber
rolling off your tongue
unfiltered
prematurely being birthed
to spoken word.
I'll give you my two cents,
thoughts that are born
before they are developed
obliterate
and die
a tragic death;
escaping your fantasy.
I must not tell lies.
Fine.
scribble my truth-
permanently etch itself
into this big blue chair:
**** you, still.
Love you,
Always.
Think before you speak.
I
wish I could get over
You.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
Here I sit
In this big blue chair
where thousands have sat before.
Stories of them
exist
saying:
**** you”
“I’m so bored”
and perhaps
my favorite,
“I must not tell lies”
I must not tell lies
which is why when you approached me
I was intrigued.
The triangular shadows under your eyes,
the scruff on your face
the words that left your lips-
a man you are
and a woman I am
you left me wanting more
simply from your sweet melody
of biochemistry
and 40 hour workweeks
just to make your ends meet.
But now you’re gone
and I’m still here
in this big blue chair
watching the trees stretch for the last rays of sun
the leaves
on the bricks below
dance
in shades of fire:
reds, oranges
and golden yellows;
the death of summertime.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC