Jessica Green

21 year old nanny who writes about her feelings a lot and performs them through poetry sometimes. I also truly believe guacamole and girls supporting girls are the keys to the universe.

[carlaconnors]

[solitaria]

[thejoeboard-deactivated20181230]

Drunk Beyoncé is art.

[quotethat]

When you’re young, you think everything you do is disposable. You move from now to now, crumpling time up in your hands, tossing it away. You’re your own speeding car. You think you can get rid of things, and people too - leave them behind. You don’t yet know about the habit they have, of coming back. Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you’ve been.

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin (via namasteh)

[bostonpoetryslam]

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

Frank O’Hara, “Mayakovsky,” via the Poetry Foundation (via bostonpoetryslam)

[fleurishes]

Everything I write lately is bloated with sadness. When you try to love the world but she’s all fists, all gut, all blood. I don't know what to do with all of my black girl grief– maybe auction it off, maybe bottle it, maybe just let it sit in the sun and heat up and cool down again. Let it congeal against the sides of the bowl  and scrape it off to start over again the next day. I get off the bus ten stops early so that I can make the long walk home, feel the ground hard and sure beneath my aching feet. I smell like flour, dough, rosemary, the oven that cooks the pizzas. I like how everyone looks at night: warm and drunk and happy, even the trees. I take off my lonely like a bodysuit and put it where I keep my sweaters. I gargle with salt. I moisturize with honey.  I remember the bodies that came before mine, the bodies that made it possible for my body to be here now. My friends and I are so pleased with these parties we throw for ourselves. We toast to them at our next awful brunch.

Kristina Haynes, “My Grief is Available For Pre-Order” (via fleurishes)

[plldailly]

[elvedon]

The story goes that magnolias are for when you are hurtling to a ground you didn't expect to see. It’s a number hanging around the neck. I am a walking echo of home. I haven't learned to grow laurels for myself. I know when to shatter & cut light down from the afternoon sun.  The knife singing tender for my body.

Ana Carrizo, “On Turning Twenty-Five” (after Billy Collins)

[prettymysticfalls]

I think it’s fascinating that there’s this level of creation that is involved with that, versus just saying, ‘I’m going to go out and I’m going to get it.’ I’m so excited about where we’re moving now with sexuality and masculinity and femininity really being a scale.

[elvedon]

this is how everything begins, blindly clawing at the light with a desire to hold it in your hands.

[latenightcornerstore]

1 So, it’s morning. Or maybe afternoon. There’s light pouring through the window and it’s got you looking the kind of haloed and soft you only see in movies. I’m only half awake but I’m already writing poetry about your eyelashes, can you believe that?   2 In the mirror, I pretend to watch myself watching myself brushing my teeth. Instead, I watch you run your hands through your hair: again and again and again and again. More than once, I’ve seen the way you try to rearrange your body into negative space. Like one of those optical illusions— the vase with the two faces. You forgot you could be both of them. You forgot that when you lean too close to a work of art the whole picture blurs and disappears.   3 A new painting: one with no negative space. You as steady hands and solid ground. You with a ukulele and a dog. Coffee and cayenne. Cheap wine and expensive whiskey. All that blue in your closet. You as the perfect first date and something soft to come home to. Bad jokes and good intentions and all that— light.   4 Yes, light. Listen, so, it’s late. Or the time of night some people call morning. It’s dark in the car, but you laugh— I mean, really laugh. The kind that catches you by surprise and crinkles up the corners of your eyes—and it’s like a camera flash in a windowless room. It’s the best thing I’ve seen, all day.   5 Every morning, the sun has to relearn how to outshine you. Sometimes even she is not bright enough.

INVENTING NEW WAYS TO CALL YOU BEAUTIFUL by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

[zoekravitzforever]

Zoë Kravitz x i-D Magazine

[couldbekash]

Jesse Williams’ Humanitarian Award Acceptance Speech.

[euo]

Floored

[in-frame]

[nitrqin]

 IG - @matthew.shaww

[1998-cool-kid]

[004d00]

me @ myself: ok bitch time to get over it

[averagefairy]

cool girls are everywhere but its such a challenge to find one guy thats like mildly interesting to talk to……. it’s like they all have the personality of an actual adidas sandal

[rudiecantfailtomakeyoucum-deact]

Maybe you’re a bitch

[averagefairy]

i mean i definitely am but youre still boring