"conditioner" poems
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
*Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too*.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
I heard in a song
that you’re only
as good as your
last mistake.
And I’ve never been
more thankful for
humans ability
to make millions.
So you’ll never
be my last,
because I’m better
than that.
Burning toast
and eating it anyway.
Buying shampoo
when I actually
needed conditioner.
Showing up late
to a meeting.
Missing the first
day of class.
Studying for an exam
two hours before it starts.
Not turning in an
assignment because
I just simply didn’t
want to do it.
Not leaving my pajamas or
bed when there’s
so much to do.
Apologizing when they
bumped into me.
Lying to people
who care, I’m okay.
Not locking my door.
Walking alone at night.
I’d rather be
defined by all
of these things
than you.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Give in
Get up.
Covers off
Silence the drill sergeant
2 seconds in
And I'm late
LATE
LATE!
French shower, PSSST! PSSST!
Dress like a clown
Keys,
Cash
Phone,
Out of the door
The street as empty as my mind
The sky, puddles of grey
No one.
No movement
A really dead raven on the door step
It had been drinking
from a bottle of fabric conditioner.
I let go of my balloons.
Spin my bowtie
A kaleidoscope paints the air.
Approaching from the distance
buzz! buZZ! bUZZ!,BUZZ!
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
when you tell me I'm in love with all our friends
I know it's a joke and I laugh along, but really, it's true.
I can't help but love so many
five
ten
twelve faces
Girls are so beautiful and boys are so beautiful and all others are so beautiful
I don't love you any less, I don't love them any more, but sometimes it overflows, dripping down the sides of my form
cutting through negative space
I have always been the one to sit in the attic, always been the one to savour the cold, always been used to metallic rattles and the feeling of coughing once more before I can pull away from from the back of my throat
and sometimes when I'm surrounded
by beautiful people and their conditioner words,
it just glows
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
To all those people out there
who try to tell me how to run my life
I turn my back to you
I will stand my ground
I pay my bills on time,
I buy the things I need
Female products, shampoo,
razers, tooth brush, ect
SO WHO CARES HOW I SPEND MY EXTRA MONEY???
Yes I know I'm slightly obbsessed with Avengers
and I buy everything in sight that has to do with them.
BUT HEY I DO IT WITH THINGS I NEED!!!!
I needed a new bedset, my old one getting disgustingly ratty
There just so happened to be an avengers one
I needed a new bath towel,
Hey Look a cheap *** Avengers one!!!!
I needed shampoo
I found a three in one
shampoo, conditioner, body wash
3 buck! AVENGERS!!!
Sorely needed a new tooth brush
Dollar tree, Spiderman!!!!
So you see
even as I splurge
I'm doing it smartly
So to all those haters out there!
GET THE **** OFF MY BACK!!!
ITS MY LIFE
AND I WILL LIVE AND SPEND IT
HOW EVER I ******* WANT!!!!!!!!!!!
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Reaching out [to you] with hands
that kneaded dough before dawn,
and bleached kitchen worktop while
bread rose in the oven.
My skin carries a chill brought in
from the garden- And
my hair, damp under the elastic
I tied it back with, smells of
almond-oil conditioner.
These old clothes
have been folded with lavender,
for too long, in a drawer-
And the knees of my jeans are black,
with fine-foam-dust, from carpet
I’m part-way-through fitting.
My toes are cold and my feet are grubby
‘cause I didn’t wear shoes
when I hung out the washing.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 9:40 AM UTC
Contemplating the versatility of Mayo
And all that can be done with it
From the slathering on whilst sun bathing
To globbing it on my bologna sandwich
I find it tantalizing to the tastebuds
And it sure does sizzle in the sun
I once applied to much and set my toes on fire
Lucky for me I lost only one
Thank goodness I was near the water
When my foot went up in flames
I guess that's why God gives us ten toes
In case we lose any along the way
As with anything you can even get bored with Mayonnaise
That's why I strive for different ideas
So I put my brain juices into overdrive
And came up with this amazing list
Instead of milk in a shake you can use Mayo
Please wait till the end for all the applause
I'm still having trouble dealing with thickness
And have yet to get it through the straw
Perhaps if I leave out the ice cream
And just add Mayo, milk chocolate, and ice
I guess I'll just keep on experimenting
When it's ready you can be the first in line
And who doesn't like mayonnaise on anchovie pizza
The perfect combination at best
Even better than peanut butter and jelly
If only I can figure out how to package it
Mayonnaise is also the perfect conditioner
You could leave it in your hair for days I suppose
But try to avoid to much time in the sun
After all...remember the toes
I'm going back to my room for more ideas now
Or as I like to call it..."The Mayo Think Tank"
I know my family thinks I'm a genius
Cause they always leave me in there for days
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
your conditioner feels expensive
and you've arranged your books
by color
but in my small world
there is only a man
you didn't sweep the flour that fell
while you baked those cupcakes
I can't imagine him looking at you
the way he looks at me
and I'm sure you'd say the same about me
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:35 AM UTC
dear future partner,
i am sorry to inform you that you can’t run your fingers through my hair
it isn’t silky or smooth like a tall white girl in a brightly colored Garnier commercial
but try running through the fields of mind,
approach gently at each thought that greets you
touch sweetly, for every dream you unfold is delicate, easily molded by those who refuse to slow down for me
glide carefully as you discover unwanted spots in my brain, left by other travelers who I mistakenly allowed to begin a journey within me
you can’t run your fingers through my hair,
but you can traverse freely through my memories as they roll off of my tongue and onto yours
feel the wind rush past my ears as my lips take you back through time and space until your own mind begins to latch onto memories of mine.
a child on a swing. kicking back her legs and greeting the sky with a smile, unknowing and unfearing of all obstacles ahead of her.
you can’t run your fingers through my hair without pulling back a weird mixture of coconut oil, leave in conditioner, and whatever product is still there before wash day
but run your hands carefully on my skin
listen to the sounds of my scars as they whisper stories unable to escape my throat
appreciate the too soft or too rough, too loose or too tough parts of my body as they welcome you to me
and when it seems as if there’s no running left, come close.
lay your head on my chest; feel me rise and fall
as I try to my fingers through you.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Everybody knows today's figures.
Lincoln Park. Kanye West. Beyonce.
Musicians. Artists. They are all praised in today’s society.
But nobody knows the names of people who actually matter.
Willis Carrier. Invented the air conditioner.
Nobody knows his name.
Robert E. Kahn. Made the internet.
Nobody knows his name.
The problem with today’s society
Is that the minds of young people are being poisoned.
By the schools who leave things out of textbooks.
By the people on the street, screaming their views.
The riots, the protests, the hell of today.
Poisoning the minds of young people.
Reed Hastings. Marc Randolph. Nobody knows them
Yet millions of people use Netflix.
SalvinoD'Armate. Nobody knows his name.
Yet over 4 BILLION people wear eyeglasses.
Young people today hate history.
They think, “Why do we need to learn about dead people?”
George Santayana once said:
“Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.”
We learn these things, not to be bored in history class.
Not to just **** time in the day.
But to inspire. To help young people to become creative, more innovative.
Imagine a world, where Alexander Bell never made the telephone.
Imagine a world, where the internet, just wasn’t a thing.
Imagine a world, where nobody invented new things.
William Higginbotham. I Guarantee that nobody in this room knows his name.
He created the very first video game, Tennis for Two, in 1958.
Without him, we would not have the games we have today.
Assassin’s Creed. Grand Theft Auto. Call of Duty.
People play these games, and use the other things I’ve listed every single day,
And they use them without any thought, or appreciation for where they came from.
Or how far we have progressed as humans.
So I ask you this. Who invented the desk you are sitting on?
Who invented the jacket you’re wearing?
Who invented that pen in your pocket?
You don’t know, do you?
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
you may cry now
hello seattle
coffee beans on the window sill
wilting sunflower
i didn't know
you would leave me in a battle
thought you'd save me they ****
but new blue skies every hour
ginger cat meows
only him and i in apartment
tv is on laptop charging
clothes on floor and bed
how you left it how
sit on the chair i can't
you aren't sitting with me darlin'
cat is hungry wasn't fed
open fridge there is a note
buy one milk and three breads
your handwriting
when do you come
cat is ok he ate in boat
in bathtub toilet paper shreds
i write in book keep in margin with love like rome
why is there soap you put in the fridge?
humming bird mind
air conditioner legit
empty mailbox work to do
photos of bridge
ice cream so fine
nice to be happy a bit
maybe it will last, coo!
bet your house messi score that
he did not he missed goal
change channel mancini's scarf on coatrack
blues miss him too do they
will you read this on your bat
cricket is good you are better, soul
is there internet or is there lack
hope you will find way home yay
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
A drugstore pallid in waning light, always illuminated in halogen halos.
I am earless with music.
Black metal loud in clanging sets and blows-
foreshadowing the smell of cleaning solution,
air freshener and the outside
sweet at my back
all steeped deep in the rip roaring undertone torrent of cigarette smoke
blended with cheap perfume until I cannot tell the difference.
There is a limp familiarity to the underlying odor
born partially of personal encounter and-
nestled in the hive mind of social experience.
A distillation of regret and remorse,
of lonely,
of irrelevance;
this black hole swallows my voice the way of my ears,
eaten by rust.
Four cans of beans,
kidneys,
in cans squeezed without any power against sagging swells
melting into other curves
and I swerve close and around guiltily,
noting you only as the source of this pungent spring.
You are smiling apologies
ignorant of my apparent inhumanity-
blind to my selfish hands..
Pinioning belly flesh,
flattening,
reaching
and gaining attendance from a better man
retrieving every dropped can.
I’m retreating,
shaken,
tense to alternatively slacken.
My sweat slippery palms with whitened red sharp fingers feel foreign
and I am surrounded by razors then shaving cream,
moving from shampoo to conditioner,
the whole store is infected with smell.
Staring at nail clippers/snipers clipping touch smooth sooth my tense mind-
don’t look
**don’t
look**
I can sense little else but dread
drawing closer
you are now crouched so close I’m gagging,
taken forcefully-swept away in an olfactory flood
roiling in rot,
currents of solitude exude from your smiling sullen appearance when I turn to you
fumbling
with my electric ears,
surfacing
in a breath of Amish silence
broken with simple request
and I want to scream at you that I am not a man to ask opinions of
that it does not matter what fake nails she glues to her body
that she is excluded and I don’t know why.
I choose swirls of cream suspended within watery milk,
over childish lady bugs framed by yellow
or dots of red alternating to black,
an epitaph to a lifelike effigy.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 1:42 AM UTC
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And look down,
I see the big old air conditioner compressor,
Rusty after decades of use
In Michigan’s sometimes-90s summers.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And glance left,
I see the faithful church,
Where I’ve spent almost as much of my life in as this house,
Where I’ve met my best friends.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And view right,
I see the standard size basketball hoop,
That I’ve dribbled under my whole life,
That has seen countless children attempt at its rim.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And overlook the church’s parking lot,
I see the large backyard,
Where I’ve kicked innumerable soccer *****
And dug limitless snow forts.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And gaze into the past,
I see you and me,
Riding around in that PowerJeep,
And that dent we put in the church.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And contemplate what’s in the present,
I see the crooked basketball hoop,
The steeple that lost its cross,
And the dead tree we don’t have the heart to tear down.
When I’m looking out my bedroom window,
And focus on the future,
I see a million different scenarios
Playing out in my head,
And I don’t even know which one I want.
All I know is nothing’s
Going to get done now,
My future isn’t going to be decided,
My life isn’t going to make itself,
While I’m just gazing out my bedroom window.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
waiting in a white room with no furniture
the humming air conditioner
can’t even drown out my thoughts
waiting to go back to maryland
for a hyperbolic death sentence—
to meet with the wonderful hypocrites
who shaped my cynicism
and anxiety
to feast on the last meal
of failure.
waiting to hear back from potential employers
who hold my future in their hands
but prefer to let me stew
waiting for the tears to start falling
I can feel my eyes welling
my lungs lugging every last bit of air
to my heart as it pounds
like an urgent knock at the door
waiting alone
with just my thoughts.
waiting to see the friends
who never got out to see the world
to look at me with delight, hoping
soon I will re-join their ranks
as a mindless tractor mechanic or slurpee filler
waiting for the cheap bottle whisky
in my stomach to regurgitate
waiting for numbing conversations
about menial tasks and news
like the weather, or something else I can see in front of me.
waiting to be coma.
waiting to see my reflection—
or shadow.
waiting for paper and pen,
waiting for suicide by rhyme at the end.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 8:10 AM UTC
kitten
its getting dark
time to come in
i am cooking dinner
let me run you a bath
hold up your arms
let me take off that sweater
now step out of those *******
get in the tub
is the water too hot too cold
let daddy know
stand up
let daddy wash you
turn around
while i wash a your back and behind
look at daddy now
as i wash your pretty little face
the wash cloth is too rough
i’ll use my hand instead
now sit down
i’ll shampoo your hair
and rinse it clean
then add a tad of conditioner
out of the tub
i’ll wrap you up
and dry you off
in my arms you go
to the living room
on the couch, in my lap
as i comb your hair
you love daddy
kitten you are so sweet
as i kiss you on the cheek
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC
this is
your open field
this is
where you lie on your back
on a fluffy, plaid duvet
eating strawberries
forgetting the sound of honking cars
and car alarms
this is your studio
replace the clay with bars of soap
paintbrushes with shampoo bottles
write your thoughts on fogged glass
lists of run-on sentences, scribbled
without inhibition
this is where the water runs off
your shoulders
this is where you reflect
it is not poetic
it is quiet, it is ordinary
knots of hair from gushing wind
smoothed over with aloe conditioner
everything is spinning, but here it slows
this is where you pause
this is where you breathe
this is where you begin again
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
I saw you at the subway the other day
You were drinking hot chocolate
I thought about asking you for a sip
but on second thought I didn't want to burn my tongue
I chased you up the stairs and outside
I got into a taxi cab
I didn't want to see you, you were looking good
I wanted to cool off and take some time out of the busy day
I heard a knock on my door, my door
Who was there?
What are you doing here?
I'm really not sure you should be here right now
Because I'm going. It's getting a little pricey
that you should be in Sweden, my friend
because it's the only place for you
I hear they have really nice gear of sorts there.
You should be in Sweden, my friend.
Yeah, you should be in Sweden.
Get yourself to Sweden
I'll tell you what we can do
You're not bent on calling me
and we'll do lunch, I'm sure.
Your fax machine can fax my bags
and it will get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.
Your hair doesn't shine like it used to.
You're not using that conditioner I gave you last year for your birthday.
It was salon selected. I thought you would like it.
And now I'm so scared. I'm pale as white.
I would invite you to sit but I didn't want you to ruin my new sofa.
I've felt this too many times.
I just got myself back up the nerve to say, the nerve
that you should be in Sweden, my friend.
What are you doing here?
You should be in Sweden.
You can ski when you're there.
You should be in Sweden, my friend.
Yeah, get yourself to Sweden.
I don't care how you do it.
Just go to Sweden. Go to Sweden.
I'll tell you what we can do.
You're not bent on calling me,
but we'll do lunch, I'm sure.
Your fax machine can fax me back
and get in touch with my cappuccino maker.
You're not bent on calling me,
and we'll talk for a while, I'm sure.
You can get back my postcard machine
and it'll get in touch with your answering machine's secretary.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Moon, blow your light
my way, but don't cut my time
Let me dream just a little longer
while my eyelids shine
in the dark starlight
Let the ceremony end slow
back in my old home,
not in a cold forest near the sea
I want to see again
those three rivers that flow
together and listen to a woman
singing to a child
in her mild mannered way
But in spite of the night
and my wishes
something keeps creeping
past me in my sleep
like numbers of smoke
It was you, dark woman,
walking across the room bare
footed turning on the air conditioner
in the winter, a pair of scissors
in the folds of your robe.
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
Why is the shampoo bottle clear, but not the conditioner?
I have no trouble getting shampoo out of the bottle, but I'm thinking of ripping apart my conditioner bottle...
Hmmm
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
America needs a poor, ***** mother for president.
We need a Muslim for vice president and a feminist to lead the army.
America needs a homeless man with no health insurance and AIDS to allocate food stamps,
gays to run the senate, and lesbians to run the house.
America needs a president who’s been shot at,
*****
and ****** on his whole life.
A person who has held their dying child,
losing a battle that cancer has already won,
buried up to the knees hospital bills.
America should be run by a person that wakes up every morning with no heat or air conditioner.
Who has fought in a war,
shakes in the night,
and lives on minimum wage.
Someone who takes the bus, the subway, and owns one pair of sneakers,
There is no time or money for anything else.
We need an inner city teacher for president.
Someone who spends 4 hours on Sundays preaching for president,
Just to go home and put on his wife's dress.
America needs a straight talker and a street walker to head the FBI.
An illegal for the CIA,
And a transgender for the DOJ.
But that will never happen.
What I have realized is that there is no longer a distinction between what is right, and what is real.
Real, is a leader is one that has been to the free clinic,
waited in line at the DMV,
and buys clothes from Walmart.
Real, is a president that is no stranger to violence.
A vice president who has been to county.
That has been fed jail food,
strip searched,
and wasted years that they will never get back.
We, the people do not fly around in private jets,
Puffing on Cuban cigars.
We, the people do not solely consist of old, rich men,
Making decisions for young, poor women.
Telling us what we can and can’t do.
Who we can and can’t love.
Widening the gap between the haves and haves nots.
We the people know hard work,
We know blood,
We know sweat,
We know tears,
But what we do not know,
Is how to engage ourselves in the goings on in the world around us.
Take responsibility,
hold your own,
and question everything.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
I like fresh vacuum lines on carpet.
I also like American flags that are hanging inside someone's house.
I like putting clothes on immediately after they come out of the dryer and I like falling asleep in a hammock.
I also really dig mini-fridges or drinking the first glass of an unopened 2 liter soda.
I like girls that laugh at my jokes and I like them more if I laugh at theirs.
I really really like sun roofs, especially at night.
Speaking of night, I also get very happy when I flip to the cold side of my pillow or get so tired that everything is hilarious.
I also need to have a cover on even if it's extremely hot and I really prefer having a static background noise like a fan or air conditioner.
I get anxious when I hear my heart beat.
I get excited whenever I'm on a long drive home and I see the first red light of my hometown.
I like romantic indie movies.
I like watching romantic indie movies with other romantic indie movie lovers.
I like the front camera on cell phones.
I like singing really badly to 90's songs with a bunch of other people who sing really badly to 90's songs
I like sunshine too...
But I really really really really like you...a lot.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC