Everyday you don’t laugh at yourself and realize none of these things matter is an unsuccessful day, just knowing that someone out there cares about you unconditionally, even if it isn’t the girl you want more than anything.  You’re alive and far from as alone as you feel at times.

=) Keep ya head up!! 

Copland, Love, and Spirituality

Diamond Doves on Fire as I Slump and stare at the ceiling The blue blazes catch my confused Mind as my eyes start to water Black tears beating down my face Reminding me that not all is innocence Light blue and gray, then on fire. The peace doves glide in flames. The snow-skied gray doves streaming To their fateful end. Seeing the world Through different eyes and I remain simply aware, staring and hoping for Any other reaction other than tears. I suddenly feel small. An inch between me and my jeans, The black chair swelling up around me Black velvety-corduroy comforting me, Soft like my mother. And then strong and as terrifying as the man who took me here. And then suffocating me, absorbing My light. I gasp at the hot air. Diamond Doves on Fire setting the white Beads of the ceiling on their course. Small White bumps on the large white plastered Ceiling, twisting and turning ,changing shape, Melting off to the sides, eating away the plaster. As the ceiling starts to melt away to show the sun I can breathe.

The black corduroy chair no longer keeping me From air. I can feel the weight of my body Shifting from side to side. To my right, the most beautiful and horrifying man I had ever seen. Eyes black, as if he had seen something humans Weren’t meant to see. Cream skin, so fair and Delicate, stretching over his strong chin. His hair almost matched the color of his eyes. I stared at him. He stared at me. He was he. I was I. He sputtered out words. I watched him Get lost in his visions. Pointing, shouting, crying, He was gone. I’m alone again. I’m alone and It doesn’t matter. The insignificance takes hold Of my intoxication and I feel small again.

Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking. I breathe the same air Thomas Jefferson breathed. The same air Kurt Vonnegut sucked in and blew out. The same air that my grandchildren would one day survive on. “Size doesn’t matter.” Scrolls across The bottomline in my brain. I giggle. He stares. I’m here. We’re here. The significance overwhelms Me, sending bursts of warmth up my back something old, Scary, beautiful and new comes over me. I hold my Breath and wrap my fingers around the bottom of My thighs. It’s here. The beautiful man next to me, Still shouting and sobbing, exclaims his love for me. I don’t love him. He doesn’t love me. He needs me.

It fills the room as I stare into the beautiful man’s black Eyes and down to his soul. He doesn’t see It. It fills every corner, illuminating the significance. His eyes were getting smaller, pinker. It stood on my shoulders, heavy, sacred, dense, Whistling loudly. But he couldn’t hear It. It dropped down inside me; I’m heavy, sacred, dense, And whistling loudly, “Appalachian Spring.” Tis a Gift to be Simple. It knew the significance, I knew the Significance.  Tis a Gift to be Free. It is inside of me. I am It’s body. It’s temple. He can’t break his stare. It tells me what to do. “I love you too,” He needs me. He needs me until he finds It.

I Would Love to Live as a Lover

I would love to live as a lover, Basking in morning sheets with Last night’s hair. I would wake and turn, with smile and little moans To see a lover's face. I would love the endless cigarettes and occasional breakfast. I would Love to live as a lover forever, The excitement never leaving our Bodies, it’s always new when  You’re a real lover. I’d love to  Live as a lover, and never get  Caught up falling in and out of Love, never overstay, never let It go sour. Always from One to another, never stop the Forever nights. Never giving up on My lover-lifestyle, always a smitten Girl in the sheets. No need for harsh Discussion, about past, present, or future, For we’re only lovers, loving lovers. Let’s not shop for paints, let’s not buy A dog, let’s not go to my Aunts birthday Party, for we’re just lovers, we're here to love. No need for a satin blue or leather Black box filled with diamonds Or pearls, for we are just lovers, Loving is all we do. Always just a lover The morning-glory-glow that wakes You, I ask of nothing in return, except To be your love sick, lovely, ever loving, Exceptionally loved, lover. 

DENIED.

LOLOLOLOLOL

Fourth Of July

The ice clinked cheerfully in the round Waterford glass. Both of their eyes shone a color brighter, Surrounded by the soft pink glaze of Intoxicating warmth.

Seizing him by the throat with her long, angelic Fingers, he falls to the ground, sputters and spits until Gaily and giddily rising to his feet. Tufts of golden-red hair Smoothed over his rosy scalp. 

She squints her absinthe-green eyes, challenging him to bring her down from her wonderful height. His snowy eyes glisten as he licks his lips, trying to balance His gaze, preparing to pounce.

She lets out a little laugh and tosses her head From side to side. She thinks she’s won. He tries to lock His eyes on the target. The ruby, sapphire, and diamond Around her neck distracts him from his challenge. 

He leans back and then forward, missing her tan face, Hooking his stubby pink fingers on her platinum chain, unable to regain his balance, falling to the ground. She hisses. He holds the chain in his hand, a champion.

First Love

A dark red beard and a head of long curls, You sit with your skinny knees crossed over, Arms back, shoulders pinned against the maroon  Couch. You start to rattle off facts about – everything. I often find myself swooning over men who can speak About things they know. A boy walked by, he looked Confused as I lowered my head into your chest, but You didn’t notice him. You placed your hand on my head, Still telling me The art of physics. Modernist Patterns. The Russian Revolution. Vonnegut, Orwell. A little bit about Anime.  It doesn’t surprise me that you know so much; A modern  Lanky renaissance man. It appears that you're aware of Your physicality and society has taught you that you’re  Not handsome. From here, it looks like you’re trying to  Make up for this by acquiring skills, twisting words like Equations of puns; you’ve polished yourself into the  Mold of an intellectual, from your appearance to  Your content. It’s endearing. You wore a yellow suit once,  You said was once a costume, “I had to beg to take it  Home, but look at me!” Even If I wanted to, I couldn’t look Away from you, 6’3 with deep red hair and a pale Yellow suit. I hate that society has taught you that You’re not handsome. You attract the eyes of any Passerby. And at first I thought you were sort of goofy, Sitting behind a screen playing Tetris, but after a week  Or so, and here on this maroon couch, you appear Godlike. Your milky skin warms – almost Matching the  Burnt red of your hair. You have me. And the day after you Had gotten to know me better Than anyone ever before – You handed me a note with two deer on it that read, “I caribou you.”

Martin

All that is left in reality are hidden Empty bottles and old receipts, but I still see you in your brothers and Mother, all with the same ever-wet Tiffany-blue eyes. 

The photographs still hang, Impossible to just see the picture and remember you handing me the Lace covered journal and a bouquet, Your proud smile, and the card,  "To my starlight, You will go so far. Love, Uncle Marty." 

I still see this, but I see also Your thick red beard, more and more jagged, untamed I see you stumbling out to the Rolls Royce in the driveway, drooling Vodka and your sister pulled the keys.

I see also your father, laying In a hospital bed in the living room, Your mother beside him. It was the palest I had ever seen your eyes, she asked You to stay in the kitchen. She'd rather Not watch. Then I can see you tearing In thanks to your rehabilitation  And your desperate apologetic whispers. The love of brothers, warming the sensation  Of the room, a healthy union of the family.    I see your gray body, half dressed in death as you hiccup and crumble. I see this and I can smell what your neighbors complained about that day, and I hear the phone ringing, and  that same set of blue eyes, spitting streams by the receiver. I see you In my dreams, thriving, flying, Smiling, and colorful again.

We weren’t allowed to dress Up for Halloween that year. Your Mother claimed the dead had played Too many tricks on her. No treat would forgive The tricks you played. 

Telescope

In the childhood bedroom that my father And godfather shared, There was a three panel window that overlooked A great unforgiving beauty.

The men that spent years in rehab trying to beat their weaknesses must have been boys before, staring out across a lot of thick, dry, itchy, brown, Green grass, the kind that leaves your ankles raw in the summer, Up to the unpainted disintegrating wooden fence Meeting the road where tourists would drive in bliss blinded by the epic beauty Of the dark blue ocean to the right and on the left, the gargantuan homes Of Spring Lake, New Jersey, famous for jetties at the ocean and soft swans at the lake.

But at night the window would open on the sky And the darkness would reflect coldly on the water. They must have been boys before. They must have looked out before. Just as I am now, and they must have felt the way I do now. It is impossible to take stand next to The telescope in the four story home on the ocean, And not feel the weakness take over you, starting at the ankles, turning bone by bone to ice, We’d do anything for warmth. Anything.

It is this window that makes me doubt myself, The window that overlooks the reflection of the inner. The desperation to fill the void of darkness Overcomes the body as it stares out onto the open lot And further to the moonlit reflection of the water And the nothingness of the dark.

It is a feeling you’d kill to forget, So drown your sorrows and pretend you don’t know Of tomorrow, forget your responsibilities, For one day another one will look out just as we have. The cycle wont end. We’re addicted to the thoughts, And addicted to our cures. The oceanfront view that so many would kill for had a window for the young to lose their youth. So raise your glass alone to the window, To the dead. To the forgotten. To the empting thoughts that push us Into our over privileged plummets, Longing to ignore the loneliness. To us. To the lost.

mollersballerz:

i just wish it was acceptable to show off my big haiiiir. #freeasmyhair

I say it's acceptable. Let's do it.

WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

Anywhere and everywhere! The places I've been, I haven't been able to fully explore (nor will I ever probably) and the places I haven't been - well I need to get a start to exploring!

Why?

The only reason I'm an English Major is because I love to write. There really isn't much else to it. I love telling stories. But after making the change to the creative writing department after spending two years as a special education major, I realized I had no idea what I wanted to do with writing, just that I loved it. I thought of the other things I love/am incredibly interested in (fashion, travel, the theater, etc.) and I thought maybe fashion journalism or theater critic. I had gone to a performing arts high school and I've been working in retail since I was 16. It doesn't hurt that my cousin is a CEO of a media company that has a focus on fashion journalism, so I went into the city to get the opinion of a family member that I hold in the highest respects. His advice was to start a fashion blog. The last time I was blogging was last summer for a florist and before that I used to blog my freshman year of high school ranting about the things that nobody wanted to hear me talk about. It's not really picking up the way I'd like it to, but I'm sure in time I'll have created something I'll be proud of, but I absolutely hate how confined I'm feeling. I want to write about what I want to write about when I want to write it. So in turn, this blog is born.