Who Knew

just-shower-thoughts:

Life could be worse. Milk could have pulp.

just-shower-thoughts:

Sometime in the future people will be in line for a teleporter complaining about how long its taking.

just-shower-thoughts:

I wonder how many strangers hate me because of how someone else described me to them

bg-grizzo:

dear Ollie,

life is all about bridges,
some bridges teach you
how to light fires,
some spaces teach you
how to cut wood and tie rope,
some bridges are crossed alone
&
right now I’m chopping trees,
knotting thread in threes
to cross space between
you
&
me

these words are planks,
these stanzas are rope,
these poems are my voice
speaking to you from the otherside

I am a master of first stroke sparks,
I am an apprentice with an ax,
I am in love with the way smoke
waves to the flames,
I am ashamed of every single
mistake that you’ll learn I made

if you can’t tell,
these letters are instructions,
some fathers write books
of golden benchmark musts
for their children,
I only have three expectations,

be a better man than I was
don’t blame your mother
for anything
never learn to light a match

I don’t know where I am,
I don’t know where I will be,
I do know that one day,
you will read me
you will hear me
you will know me
I’m building this bridge
so you can forgive me

son, I’m sorry,
it’s a bridge
you’ll need to walk

on your own

love,
dad

-

#8 - Write about a child crossing a bridge alone.-Inkstay September

(via bggrizzo)

deadsensescompany:

“The Sound Of Love”

He was a world renown artist
He could play the violin
He could tell you any song
Before it would begin
He could speak many languages
So fluent off his tounge
He always kept his house clean
Before spring had even sprung
He traveled many countries
An intellectual he was
He would tinker with his watches
For reasons just because
He was a classy gentleman
So spiritual and devine
The only dilemma here
Was that he was blind
He had never seen the colors
Or the faces passing by
But you would never know this
Because he’d look you in the eye
And smile as wide as he could
A happy man he was
Still he hurt inside
For he had never been in love
He had never seen the lights
Above the moonlit city
But he often pondered aloud
Of who and what were pretty
He longed to cuddle during
A calming, evening rain
But could never even see
His own window panes
But one day this kind man
Was in a coffee house
Reading in a corner
And quiet as a mouse
He loved to read philosophy
And learn from the past
He once wrote a novel
For he detested math
But in this coffee shop
That is when he heard
This adorable sounding pitch
That sounded like a bird
A Golden Pheasant to be percise
Those kinds that warm the heart
The way they float on daffodils
Like a beautiful work of art
This made him drop his book
And his heart lose its limbs
As he quickly realized
She was sitting next to him
His mind ran in circles
Of thinking what to say
The more he heard her voice
The more his heart did sway
It sounded like a symphony
With many different keys
Of which ranged in pitches
But worked perfectly
It killed him not to see
The owner of that tone
So he soon formed pictures
Of this beautiful unknown
Could she be a blonde?
A red head? A brunette?
Could she have a smile
Of which he won’t forget?
And just when he gathered nerves
And was finally in his groove
He realized something awful
He couldn’t make his move
This girl that sat next to him
Who gave him feelings never felt
Heard her say “I love you,”
To the delight of someone else
He heard a man’s voice
Much to his dismay
And her constant giggling
Soon drifted away
He wanted to hear this voice
Forever and beyond
But just as quick as she came
She had come and gone
And so he continued reading
With his nose in his book
For that was so misleading
But at least he had a look
And this intellectual man
Born blind not by choice
Got a taste of love
From the mouth of someone’s voice

drearydaffodil:

So, so tired, brain

In third gear going

Sixty, the transmission

Whining for peace.

Broken glass deciding

Its fate, blood and

Pain and glittered

Anger or swept

Into the trash safely

Lingering with

Refuse, dreams of

Midnight mosaics

Prisms that catch

Light and wash a

Breaking world in

Scattered rainbow.

You are not garbage,

You are art and

Pain and hope

And please

Don’t

Find a way to

Bury yourself

Before you

Find instead

A way to fly.

inkbyaporia:

We say we’re simply friends but when we hold each other under the falling light of late summer the warmth in my chest tells the truth my thoughts tremble to. The truth is this. My mind is a highway leading back to the earth that is the color of your skin, my lips are drunk men hooked on the taste of you. And goodness, I wish I could tell you. I wish I could tell you how worth it you are to me. I wish I could look you in the eyes and say that yes, I know it’d be hard to make this work but I swear to the gaps in your heartbeat that I’d do everything I could to have you in my arms and my fingers intertwined with yours like satin thread that is impossible to untie. The emotional barriers we place between our eager bodies are simply shielding hearts that are so irrevocably frightened of the way they beat for each other. I feel the heat of your skin and the pressure of your chest in the bottom of my fucking lungs as if you are a breath I cannot, and would not want to exhale out into the world of those who do not know what loving you feels like. Maybe it’s only the fleeting sense that everything I love will one day slip away from fingers that are too human to hold them but I want to take your face in both of my hands, lean close enough to you to smell your skin again, and know we are the only kiss our lips will ever be satisfied with. I never expected to feel this strongly for you but I don’t think anyone could feel your body that is as soft and warm and strong as August sunlight, hear your laugh that is so unexpected and feral, feel your arms around them that are as powerful as they are tender, like rain that never floods, and come away unscathed by the very sight of you. You always say I’ll make someone lucky one day, but goodness, I’m willing to dive headfirst into that complicated, messy, magnificent soul of yours for that someone to be you.

-ap (9.5.17) friends don’t hold each other like this