MY PEACE

var sc_project=6045067; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="d36fe1d9"; My name is Annie. I am in the teen age, and am therefore frustrated, and confused — in all aspects. This is an outlet; you're welcome to join me in it, if you wish. http://www.formspring.me/screw

[pleatedjeans]

via

[apertures413thdoctor]

Ellen what the fuck happened in 1998

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ellen degeneres came out in 1997

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yeah but ellen what happened in 2014

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ellen page came out in 2014

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^truth

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Have fun then.

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Change

A man 

dressed in folds made of

hunched shoulders and tattered t-shirt

approaches us, 

so burnt and beaten by the sun

into a pulp of raw flesh

stained blood orange

in the special marinade

of car glares and sweat 

that he wore like a clay mask

meant to suck the stresses out of the pores

on his face

but instead,

could never quite be 

washed away. 

When he gets to our window glass

dangerously teetering 

between your uncertain finger on that lock button

and the summer heat,

he motions downward with two digits

encrusted with what we could only envision

as Big Mac grease and dirt,

an earnest expression

momentarily overpowering

the hardness in his eyes.

  You acquiesce to his persistence

Why not?

with an air of annoyance and indifference,

having breathed Sweet Mary Jane's fragrance

and insufflated some combination of snowflakes and chill pills

once piled gloriously like a new snow

collected and swept together into beautiful mounds

powdered with sprinkles of confectioner's sugar on top

but gone from our sights and wallets

up into our nasal passages  

never to return in any coherent form.

   And finally when we are all

smelling the same stale air

and knocked back shocked

at the difference,

we see that his eyes are much sadder and stronger than ours

and perhaps some salutations are in order

as is respect

We slip our candy into our pockets anyway

because breathing recycled oxygen hits the capacity of every other person’s generosity,

so why not stick to the status quo of mass dis-concern

And surely, all anyone wants is some easy sugar release

away from here

this sickly sticky street anchored down by a broken traffic light.

  Instead he asks if we could spare him some

spare change

because he is hungry

and he is tired

and really could use

some change.

  We too are forever hungry as much as we are tired

Insatiable suns consuming ourselves to self-inflicted implosion

Supernova deaths and births

of pleasure and pleasure and pleasure please

over again and again and

over again and again and again and then

why not once more?

  Push away burden of thought, of pain

Too many thoughts, too many thoughts

Make them disappear.

  It’s getting impossible to ignore our thirst

For in matters of survival, thirst always trumps hunger

Thirst for a moment of lucidity, of choice

and peace of mind

That life is worth living as long as there is hope for change from this

melancholy existence, helpless reliance

on analgesic fumes 

stale with the numbing dullness of too much candy.

It hangs over our shoulders heavy

Like layers of tattered t-shirt.

  Perhaps we should take a cue from our fellow man

who clearly has not loosened his grip on his hard-earned change.

  Take to the streets

The trees

open your eyes and ears

and heart and soul

and maybe

to your delight

you will find

in an unexpected corner

the change you are looking for.

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are you different or just uninterested?

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draft

I curl my toes

Hoping they’d disappear

Into the soles of my feet

and I would have a legitimate excuse for not being able to stand

against this turbulance

rumbles in the bellies of watermelon

Knocking around the back of a pickup truck

Headed toward an expanse-of-nothing desert

Where no melon grows

  And he who knows what is best for himself

Would not lay down in this sand

Burning the follicles off my back

  I wish it were you instead

Flipping rare steaks on the grill

Installed at the base of my belly

The raw would sooth my upset stomach

before rubbing salt in my eyes

  I would not even wince from the pain

  My fibulae are fighting their natural tendencies

To shatter under the weight of our bodies

And my hips

held heavy in my hesitance

As are my toes

To step into this puddle of muddy water

Lest it be lukewarm

And I slip in it anyway`

  Whisper my hesitance away

With an answer spoken

In the tongue of friends

So I can understand

I already do

And I would listen intently

And follow intently the sound of your pulsing heart

As easily as the folds of flurried flesh did

Under your sea of sheets

  I wonder

If I would be disappointed

By your idea of a mud bath

If the cracks caked on my cheekbones

Would shed into a new skin glean

Or settle silently

as dust does over time

Into wrinkled rivers

Etched around a frown

  I already know

How hard I would scrape and scrub

At the scars

Ice-picked and crumpled into themselves

Defeated and defined

  Someday the scars would fade

Like the pink of watermelon rinds

Consumed pale in violent thirst

Among this blistering heat

When we can’t join hands

For fear of not being able to stroke

And kiss all the lovely handshakes

Written into the history books of our future

  The pigment would fade but I would not forget

the symphony before our final note

and the prelude before that

foreplay, child’s play

When do we become too old

To play this game of hide and seek

Collect and go?

  We choose to walk this barren walk

Palms bare and sweaty

But open to receive 

On the off chance it rains

And the wind sweeps us off our feet

  At least the truck driver

Will notice the tumbleweed

A little roughed up on the edges

And torn like some of the pages in my book

But whole nonetheless

Momentarily caught on a diamond in the rough

Not yet bloodied by human hands

  And he will wish upon that wishing weed

already resuming its nimbic journey

from its resting spot

along the banks of yet another uncharted watering hole

Before wondering where it’s headed

And where it will end up

  In the end we will have our you and me

It’s written in the books

[internetbarbie]

[the-promise-of-mitosis-deactiva]

[lilfatbitch]

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mushroom coral lips

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So it begins...

I want to vomit my insides out

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Visit Original Link

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kill my buzz

punching

pounding

I can't expect anymore

broken

gripping

knots in my back

I'm sorry

I lost the free

cell game

[william-clark-deactivated201801]

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Foresight

I think it's rather peculiar

that emotional maturity means

knowing all the facets of hurt

to feel their weight in your left palm

and note the difference

between your right

and ask is it worth it?

Can I stay?

I'm not running away

I'm walking

revisiting my once hesitant steps

sunken against the cement road leading away from you

because right now my palms are empty

but I already know

that they could soon both be heavy

overflowing to the point that

one choice could do no less damage than its alternative

and that is when you learn that love is another addiction

ornamented in bliss

but covered in thorns

It means admitting your sweet tooth

while denying the birthday cake

for the sake of your paleolithic diet

But emotional maturity is also honesty

it's respect for the feelings stirring the blood

pumping out of your heart

into the corners of your mind

and finishing the sentences that perpetuate into loudspeaker thoughts

It's knowing when to chase your connections

and when to let go

always remembering to honor yourself

with the conviction of your choice

regardless of which palm carries the bigger burden

regardless of which prong of the fork you decide to travel

I am not saying that I am emotionally mature

but I'm no longer the girl that I used to be

blindly grasping for comfort in relief

even if it means disregarding the acid pangs

calcifying my ribcage

I still have a hard time at forks in the road

but I know I have gotten better

at listening to the whispers of the wind

to determine the orientation of my travels

No matter where I end up

I will not be lost