Or someone who knows they can write and loves to write but never writes because they’re lazy and they spend so much time on this fucking website
I’ve been so preoccupied with my new blog, I feel like I haven’t posted here in ages.
Not so much a secret,
everything that I have envisioned for you and I:
stepping on diamond trees,
kissing you on pillows of marigold.
the touch of your lips,
the lukewarm breeze pressing against my face.
the look in your eyes,
the hot sand burning the soles of my feet.
me in side of you,
and your laugh reverberating in my ears.
It was my life’s goal to reach
the mother moon.
She is the only one that stays
awake with me
When the bad thoughts creep in
and the monsters in my closet and
under my bed start screaming my name,
taunting me, torturing me
"Mother moon," I said,
“I adore you –
I tried with all my might to fly to you, to reach you.
But, I had forgotten that my wings were clipped
by the brazen hands of my
And as, I was falling down to the Earth,
the wind caught me and broke my fall.
I saw your smiling face, beaming down at me
as I closed my eyes
and opened my arms to
ready myself for Midnight’s embrace.”
Dear Tumblr Writers
Hey folks, unfortunately this isn’t a poem. Oops.
I’m making this post to make a half-assed announcement about my new blog – writemilkchocolate.tumblr.com.
In case some of you haven’t noticed, I changed the name of my blog from “It Could Be Milk Chocolate” to “A Clean, Well-lighted Place”. Well, the reason why I did that was because I much preferred the latter because, in short, my blog is my clean, well-lighted place. (It’s a short story by Hemingway; if you read it, you’ll understand the reference.)
But, I hate reblogging too often – even though I have this burning urge to do so – so I created a new blog to serve that purpose. Please, check it out and follow!
From my new blog!
"Never use the word suddenly just to create tension.” – Writing Fiction
"Suddenly, you were planting some yellow petunias
outside in the garden,
and suddenly I was in the study
looking up the word oligarchy for the thirty-seventh time.
When suddenly, without warning,
you planted the last…
I Miss You
I would like think of myself as a poet.
Therefore, now I would like to take the time to
to plot out a great opening sentence for
this poem that I had planned to write about you.
But I cannot think of anything to say as
I am unable to formulate a grammatically correct
sentence for what I am feeling on this day,
as my room is shaded by an overcast sky.
All I can think to say, for lack of better words, is:
I miss you.