New York City.

Call my silence writer's block but you know glances are just lover's talk. (clc.) the brightness of her cheek could shame those stars.

[wilgracio-blog]

There's this part inside of me this area of my heart this corner of me that pumps blood a little faster that thumps a little harder and that is the part that is yours. This part of me, it is filled with hope It's sole purpose is to pump enough hope-filled blood to my brain to sustain me throughout the day to fester dreams of you that spill on my notebook and consume my thoughts. And when I look at you, my brain is so filled with all of this hope that just keeps free-flowing that I can barely stand And I grow sad after I walk away because I hope so much that you will love me That you will love me in ways nobody could ever understand but us And all it is is just blood.

wgc // 20.12.2013

[watsonschapel]

to swear, swears only i swear, you make me feel less lonely you make me feel like these halls are my own like the world will keep spinning, and i’ll wake up tomorrow morning with a grin instead of a groan.

wgc // 17.12.2013. (via willababy)

[wilgracio-blog]

i am enamoured with thoughts of you a sometimes i wonder if you will ever be enamoured with thoughts of me, too

wgc // 17.12.2013

[wilgracio-blog]

i wish i was beautiful

like the other girls between these walls

i wish you noticed me

i wished you shouted my name down the halls

to get me to come closer

and lend you a word

but a penny for your thoughts

it's more expensive than what i'm worth

you look at me with a grin in your eyes

your carefree jokes are like warmth on a

cold winter's night

and i swear i die every time you let a smile pull your lips

and for a second i let myself believe

it's not just my mind playing tricks.

wgc // 17.12.2013

[wilgracio-blog]

i want to grow up and live with you in that apartment by Absolute Bagels and Bank of America, right by Samaad's where we can get David's blend, every single morning And every single morning, you're lips will wake me up And your eyes will read of new adventures i want to get lost in the subway with you and end up nowhere special but absolutely magnificent all together like you you, to others, are nowhere near as special as you are to me you are absolutely magnificent and you can write dirty jokes on the walls of bathrooms and we can laugh about it at Starbucks at 103rd where all the girls stare at me funny i think it's my hair and i can drag you to The Strand every weekend and we can find the weirdest books that stuff the shelves and sit for hours and hours and hours and hours and read them aloud to each other we can weave our way through Chelsea Market, eating Amy's bread on the Highline and seeing everything like it's our first time even though we've been everywhere together a million i'd share with you my special place the place i think of when i'm sad i'd sew you into my fairytale i'd make you prince charming but see, you've already made yourself prince charming you've already engrained yourself in my thoughts you've left me with no choice you are already waiting for me in that apartment by Absolute and Bank of America with David's coffee and eyes that read like the weirdest books from The Strand and in my mind you're already lovingly pulling at my tangled locks and telling me how beautiful you think I am until I begin to believe it.

wgc.

17/12/2013.

[urradishing]

hello.

My uncle always told me that people with blogs annoyed him. He laughed at their overshares and mocked their desire for attention. But here I am. Frankly, my uncle finds a lot of things annoying, and me adding blogging personal things to my list of strikes in his books doesn’t seem that intimidating anymore. 

I stop myself from doing things a lot, just for the sheer fact that I’m afraid of what others will think. It’s a problem I have, one that I want to get rid of. So here I am, making a blog that isn’t just full of pictures and quotes and posts from Anchorman. 

I have a lot to say, you know. And I don’t know if anyone will read this, or if anyone will care, but if you do — know that whoever you are, wherever you are, I love you and thank you.

[wilgracio-blog]

You make me sick but

Somehow you make it feel like

I'm falling in love.

-willow grace.

[wilgracio-blog]

The things i do to survive this school sicken me the things i say to get you to look my way take up all my thoughts and how i get really sad, after being so happy it just confuses me beyond belief how how does my mind work this way i can't explain it it feels unnatural to write it down it doesn't feel good people tell me it's a phase but this phase has gone on for three fucking years i'm done with this phase i'm done with being lonely i don't want to be overlooked anymore i want you to stare at me in disbelief of my beauty and i want you to want to talk to me all the fucking time but you don't and you won't and i'm sick of it. I'm sick of being awkward and stumbling over my words and making typos i hate fucking typos i hate when people question me and make me doubt the only thing in my life that's been here all along and you all do it all of you and i'm fucking sick of it i'm tired of being tired no matter how much sleep i get or how much coffee i drink i'm tired of being undermined and told i don't deserve things i fucking deserve it i deserve the purple ribboned medal that hangs on my doorknob and i deserve my 86.5 average and i deserve to be loved i hate how i have to try to get people to like me i have to beg them to like me as if just being me is not good enough i'm not good enough for you and i'm fucking sick of it.

willow grace.

[wilgracio-blog]

When I was young, they asked me what I wanted to be. I said a princess, like every other little girl in my grade three class, I said loved, because I felt alone I said happy, because I really liked The Beatles and John Lennon was great and I was sad. There's this song now that makes me feel like grade three me in a good way which is shocking because grade three to grade six me was not a good me I feel like a princess Like my new-found depression is not me But that I am loved and maybe even happy And there's this boy who I know but he doesn't know me Perhaps he'll never know me But he sings me to sleep every single night And when I cry his voice is the only one that can soothe me. And I dance with him in my room, and he makes me Laugh as I wash dishes, And I hate dishes. But I love him. And now I am almost sixteen years old though I feel much older, I stand much taller, I talk much louder, The boy has helped me grow but he does not know He's sang me to sleep for three years And I haven't been tired a day since.

willow grace

[wilgracio-blog]

Maybe, perhaps, potentially. Kind of - but not quite sure, Almost - but not quite there. Not last, but never first, A holy place, but not a church. Not beautiful, but not ghoulish, A little silly, but not foolish. Known, but not proud, Still, lost and never found. wc. (18/11/2013)

[wilgracio-blog]

Mary

Everybody said She had a thin little face and A thin little body She had always been ill Once a great beauty But Sickly, fretful, pale faced.

wc. (17/11/2013)

[wilgracio-blog]

Roman Numerals

To me you are Roman numerals Bold faced and simple You don't slump your shoulders When you walk You never stutter When you talk When I see you I feel Important yet simultaneously Stupid When I do not understand. wc. (15/11/2013)

[wilgracio-blog]

I’m way cooler than Wendy’s. You could have ate with me. So fuck you very much.

(written 30/09/2013)

[wilgracio-blog]

Off all the people Who could have broken me, why Must it have been you? (written 30/09/2013)

[wilgracio-blog]

Life Support

One day I met a boy

In the middle of the hallway

Surrounded by metal, locks, and dreaded doorways

His smile was light, electric,

And, my God, it lifted my from indescribably low spirits.

We were so close, I could have

reached out and touched him,

In the empty hall

It was just us, silent save 

for the distant laughter.

And his voice vibrated in my 

lungs, pressing itself

To my heart

I couldn't breathe nor pump blood to

my brain

But his eyes kept me alive.

-wc

14/11/2013

[wilgracio-blog]

Haunted Hopes

Sometimes I wish I 

was more fucked up

That I had an urge to cut

Or the will to not eat so

I could be thin enough.

Occasionally I hope for a

diagnosis of dysphoria

To explain my emotions

And make sense of my mind.

And maybe my desires make me

Just as sick

As any person with these things

on their back

Or perhaps I am sicker indeed

That I consider these disorders made 

Not of nightmares

But of dreams.

-wc

14/11/2013

[wilgracio-blog]

Speechless

As a poet, the fact that 

You leave me speechless

Terrifies me more 

Than you will ever know.

-wc

14/11/2013