"reblogs" poems
I used to Tumble my feelings away until you found my blog. My feelings are backlogged because you've got my URL on your homepage shortcuts next to Google and Pornhub.
I relish the days I used to subtweet you from the club. How I used to let
the bass drown out my thoughts as the beat dropped faster than my faith in you. In us.
I wish I could Insta this moment without worrying you'd see me with him. You ******* stalker get a life. Why are you holding on so tight? Quit covertly favoriting my pics, tweets and reblogs. I'm over it.
Status Update: I'm done with you. You can unfollow, delete and block me now because the only thing you're holding onto is the illusion of closeness. Outside this digital world I'm not a follower, a friend or a subscriber.
I'm the last good thing you had.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
We live in a world where we show our affection
through likes, reblogs and shares.
we meet with friends just to stay at the same table
with smartphones in hands and smile casually at each other
gladly that we speak about moments and life
through pin pictures and tagging... stuff.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
to get over writer's block,
write.
not for likes, reblogs,
views, or compliments.
just start.
with words
and nothing more.
losing that longing
for validation
is a liberating cry
that i wish could echo
through these hills,
into libraries
and classrooms
and that notepad
which remains blank
at your bedside.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
There's nothing harder,
than watching the reblogs,
Of someone you love,
Talking about,
Crying about,
Relating to their unrequited love,
And I'm here,
"HELLO?"
Not waving,
Drowning.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
Everything she wants is in her favorite things. It's in the songs she sings, the photos she reblogs, the movies she sees- she wants the tender, lengthy kisses she sees in films. She knows better than to expect it, but by God does she want it. The songs about adoration and indefinite love, about thinking she's a sight and lovely and beautiful, maybe even overwhelming and frightening- she wants it.
I want it. I want a mind-blowing love. And I want to hear about it. I don't want a silent lover; I want someone to yell about it from rooftops and sky scrapers to loud cities below.
I want a man who isn't afraid to tell me how he feels because he's afraid of losing me in the first place. I try to be this for others and I hope someday a man walks into my life and says, "My turn."
I know love isn't easy or picture perfect or always pretty, alluring or needed. But I love with my whole **** heart. I lay it out on the floor in your path to see if you'll run away, step on it, scoot around it or maybe pick it up and hand it back, saying, "Lay it down for someone else."
I want a man who will write the songs so they can be the soundtrack to our cinema of love and growth and adoration. It seems cliché, corny, unrealistic. Like a dream, like a fantasy. But why settle for an ordinary love? I want an out-of-this-world love that keeps me on my toes, keeps me with my wits, and keeps me alive. I want it to make my blood pump through my veins, I want it to make my blood boil. I want it in my veins, my eyes, my skin, my finger tips and ***** I want a man who lays his heart down in front of me, and asks for a trade.
She wants a love like the movies and songs. So, go give her a love that puts those **** movies and songs to shame. Kiss her as the sun comes up, kiss her as it sets. Hollow out her curves with your lips, kiss her where she likes herself least. Hold her. Remind her what she means to you, because she knows she's amazing and she won't wait for someone who doesn't show her that she is.
She is the song, the movie, the moment- now go sing of her, act alongside her, be alive with her. Do it. Just ******* do it. Love her with every ounce of your being, every molecule, because she's putting every fiber of her being into this and nothing more would light her up more than you loving her as much as she loves you.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
everywhere i go, i've got my phone in my hand.
everything i do is documented
recorded in a profile for the world to see,
just for my own memory.
i plug myself in, charge up, and go,
selfies and tweets and reblogs galore
as i go about my life like a character
whose storyline is already in place.
my character arc is part of the way through,
and to complete it, i suppose,
i must stay connected.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
**** you internet,
Stop picking roses and asking me to ignore the thorns,
Cut off their heads,
Give me the thorns,
I don’t need to make myself smell sweet for you,
Empty head,
Brain dead,
Fill it up with faults in our stars and the perks of being a wallflower,
We all know ants can carry away common sense,
If there are enough of the *******
But don’t peg me as a simpering idiot,
Sitting in the dark waiting for poetry to illuminate demise,
I’m not black and white, tears rolling, all alone,
Go **** your rusty razors,
I don’t need anyone to kiss my scars,
I am forty thousand thunderstorms,
I destroy what I want and I will always make you run for cover,
I will use all my energy to summon starving rain,
Just to make everything feel normal,
I have been my own casualty and I have been my own champion,
But victim isn’t in my vocabulary,
I never wrote wailings on white,
Or measured my problems in aesthetics and ‘reblogs’,
You are not ‘beautifully broken’,
Love is not masked by exquisite pain,
And I don’t believe in the charms of your never ending night,
Because the sun always rises,
And I would rather let it burn me up,
Then lurk in the shadows like you.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC