a.) live in the DMV
b.) like the indie rock hip hop band, RDGLDGRN
c.) want to see them with me at U St. Music Hall December 29
d.) and not mind putting up with my terrible but inevitable dancing
All I want for christmas is 68 more followers.
Vanessa (aka haikuology)
P.S If you give me the followers, I’ll leave you cookies and a haiku
i have a funeral i have to be up for early tomorrow morning. why am i up?
i went to a wake today for my best friend’s grandma. viewing a dead body is weird as fuck. it almost feels like an intimate act. i kept wanting to stare at the body, but it just felt uncomfortable with other people in the room. so i looked at the other people and the ceiling a lot. i teared up once.
on monday morning, my best friend’s grandma died. on tuesday morning, my close friend’s good friend died. today, my aunt’s friend and my other friend’s friend died. i’m not really sure how i feel, so i’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about it. how i feel, that is. to be honest, i feel like i should spend a lot more time thinking about how my friends feel, more than myself. it wasn’t really me who lost anyone.
do you think when you lose people, you lose a part of yourself? and if so, do you think that part can ever grow back?
with all this loss, it’s been causing my mind to reminisce at a high magnitude lately. to be honest, i don’t think i can emotionally bare the full extent of the memories my mental keeps wanting to surface.
i want to call a friend, and tell her about all this death that’s been going on, and how it keeps fueling me to tell her i hope to see her soon because it’s been too damn apparent that you never know when the last time you’re going to see someone is, and ask her how we’ve gotten to the point where seeing each other is an uncertainty, but i won’t call, because my story about death and life would mean nothing to her and it would be a burden.
i do think i’m going to call my grandma tomorrow and tell her i love her.
i don’t know if i love myself more than i am disappointed in myself, anymore.
is it possible to fear yourself, more than fearing death?
ah death and life, life and death. time’s biggest fuck you.
*sigh of temporary resignation*
i think it’s time i try to get some sleep now.
Stand in front of this mirror with me. Take a cold, hard look at me and then at you and then at the both of us. Tell me what was the exact moment where we stopped giving a fuck about each other long enough for us to get to this. What moment was the tipping point that would result in us asking, years later, ‘how the hell did we get here?’
Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this.
Clementine von Radics (via foreveragoforemma)