It’s gotten late and now I want to be alone All of our friends were here, they all have gone home And here i sit on the front porch watching the drunks stumble forth into the night “You gave me a heart attack; i did not see you there. I thought you had disappeared so early away from here.” And this is the chance I never got to make a move. But we just talk about the people we’ve met in the last 5 years. And will remember them in ten more? I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past. I’ve tried twice before but like this, it just will not last.
i think this is one of the most beautiful album openers i’ve ever heard in my life
College has been really great! I’m back home now for the first time since August but I really love Ithaca. There is the cutest art cinema, so many used bookstores, a record shop with a cool english dude who is obsessed with 60’s rock, and everybody (especially the friends I’ve made) are so nice.
“Yeah, “Lime Tree” is a song that I actually dreamed. Which I never dream music… or I dream music a lot but I can never remember it in the morning. But I actually remembered the lyrics and the melody to a lot of that song from a dream. Which was.. Which has never happened to me before. Um… I kinda liked- I kinda liked that. That was cool.”—Conor Oberst (via connyxoberst)
“DO NOT DIE ON ME, memory
of the first boy I ever kissed. He had a lisp
and I had limp hands and nervous lips. I write it down.
I am so scared
the taste of the last man who ever made me feel worthy
of something more than bruised knees and shattered pride.
I try to hide my stomach now. I try to lie
and tell men that my work is not about them. That I do not dye my hair
or diet or try to die
because of the way they look at my thighs, because of memories
of my father’s eyes glaring.
I say that I do it for me. But I shave my legs every morning
to avoid judgment. And the crack between my lungs
and my heart is heavy with the nonsense I’ve swallowed.
I spit it up and play games of an idol.
I remember feeling valued, but I’m starting too forget it
and it’s fine – I’ll tempt men to kiss this
dull face. I have dreams about beauty and grace
but can’t emulate it. I lie and tell him I’m not a poet,
just another empty box of air for his pleasure.
and I mean it.”—
A Poem on the Cognitive Dissonance of a Confused Feminist; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)
HB does it again omg I want Hannah to be my friend
“When the anxiety gets too bad
I call my grandmother
an artist. I sit on the back porch and knit -
the repetition is harmless,
the metal clicking
soothing. And I
am an artist too. It runs in the family. I run
into you at a show. You don’t know
anything about me.
I want to show you the bruises on my knee
in the shape of a cross. In case you want
another cross to bear,
and we all need someone here
to braid our hair and call our hearts
home. If I hadn’t known
I would be alone at times, this would be impossible.
But when the anxiety is bad
I do not rush to the hospital. Instead
I make a list of books in my head
and recap them – boat captains,
Jane at Thornfield,
Kerouac crossing the country. I remember
my skinned knees healing at twelve,
and again at thirteen. I call my mom
a goddess. And I speak to the planets
and I swear
not to show you too much
of the noise.”—