They put a picture by my poem and I'm afraid it might have ruined everything.

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One year ago today [      ] broke up with me. Last night I sang La vie en rose without feeling sad. I think I am finally over him. I do wonder how he is doing, not for myself but as an old friend. It has been a long year.

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"Hi, my name is Violet and I am a Manic Pixie Dream Girl." .  "Hi Violet," they all droned back in unison. . "I never thought I would end up here," I continued

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I didn’t trip  but I didn’t fit either

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You are not worth my words For you will not stay to hear

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Yes, Come to Pittsburgh!

A historic state deserves to keep making history. Let’s get you on the Paper Towns ‘Get Lost Get Found’ tour schedule. Favorite and reblog to vote and make it happen! One note = one vote!

I had forgotten what it felt like... having a disability. I know so well the side effects that replaced the symptoms. I can tell the difference between medicated and non-medicated jitters. I had forgotten how to be tired and fall asleep instead of just being tired. My dreams used to be so colorful and have the strangest characters. Now they are flat and not even worth the torture of watching the pictures slip away just as you are trying to put them back together. I had forgotten what it felt like to be inside of the control. My body had control and I was stuck inside. My eyes decided when to sleep, my stomach decided when to eat, my mouth decided to never close, always more bites and more words than I wanted

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Yesterday I could not stop crying. I don’t know why. My brother was teasing me and my laughter turned to tears before I noticed them streaming down my face. I laughed about it later. Sometimes I can’t stop crying and it scares me. I am not crying over [ ] but the space that [ ] left. I don’t want [ ] back but this space is becoming too much for me. I don’t want you back but this space is becoming too much for me. I filled myself with tears before I even noticed my lungs asking for more to drink.                                                                                                                               . I sit sideways in my swing. I sit in a U of white rope. I pretend that this is enough for now. I stop crying.

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Last night I had one of those vivid dreams. The kind that make you think that the dream really happened and now you are living in a world where those events are the past and your future has exploded with possibilities.                                                                                                                               . I dreamed that a boy moved in close and another called me to say that he couldn't stop thinking about how cute I looked down by the creek.                                                                                                                               . When I woke I felt relief and dread.                                                                                                                               . I thought about how to enjoy the first and deal with the second, or deal with the first and enjoy the second.                                                                                                                               . But a few minutes later I remembered that the events were not my past but just a wishful thought animated by sleep. And I didn't have to worry anymore. I didn't have the wonderful thing either though.                                                                                                                               . I guess that's the point of dreams. You don't have any consequences but are stuck in reverie.

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Surely, there can be nothing more beautiful than a girl in sunlight

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The poetry exhibit was lovely but I wish the words were bigger I wish the words could fill me up and leave no space for wanting

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New poem for my sister

It is flood                                                          It is brain chemistry It is brain                                                          It is ten pounds lighter It is tv static                                                                                   than me It is without aim  __ It is ten minutes until class It is five year feelings, a five month friend, a five second door __ It is burgundy It is brick It is five minutes until class It is a tired voice It is burgundy __ It is raining It is brick

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Isn’t it odd how melancholy sits like cement in your heart

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finals week rambling (4)

the random scrawling of a reluctant adult 

(via polka-dotted-blue)

Recording of “83 Down color of overcast skies”

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My poetry

therandomscrawling.blogspot.com