YAWP!

Things almost every author needs to research

clevergirlhelps:

the-right-writing:

  • How bodies decompose
  • Wilderness survival skills
  • Mob mentality
  • Other cultures
  • What it takes for a human to die in a given situation
  • Common tropes in your genre
  • Average weather for your setting

yoooo

Grandparents asked me to set up a Facebook account for them today. Funny stuff will ensue now I’m sure.

“You’re back again,
and I’ve forgotten
everything I’ve learned in your
absence. I give you my knees,
my thighs, my hands,
and you take them because
you think I know better now.

This is the problem.
I disappear inside of you
and make you fish me back
out when it’s all over.
I call myself Lonely so that when
you come along, I forget my name.

This is the problem.
I don’t know how to keep myself
when you’re around.
I don’t know how to let love
inside and follow after it.
I don’t know how to
keep the keys.

So if I ever tell you that
I still haven’t figured out how
to kiss like I’m not giving
] something away, don’t laugh.
Don’t tell me I’m being dramatic
or that my poet is showing.

I am an empty bed for you,
do you understand?
I am a vacant hand.
I am a broken record that will
only sing your name
and it isn’t pretty,
the way I give myself,
my magic away like it’s nothing.
It isn’t pretty at all.”

Caitlyn Siehl, "the Well and the Wisher" (via alonesomes)

Hearing Anastacia’s ‘I’m Outta Love’ and busting out all of your dance moves from when you were a kid.

“He flinched when he rolled over to kiss me at 4am.
It took me three years to understand that these kisses,
they are not happenstance.
He is awake because he is racing off to –-
He kisses me before I get the chance to ask,
“Where are you going?”
His eyes smell of hickory and dew, and
It is not until six months after he leaves
When I’m stark cold and alone in my bed that I realize,
My senses have not been functioning properly since I have known him.
Like it was not my nose that was peering
Deeply into his gaze,
And my hands do not equate to my heart,
No matter how often I press them into his back
Or how gracefully I clasp them together in prayer.
You see, loving somebody to the point of madness…
It is like chasing a train, in which
Through the back window, you saw somebody
You knew you had to meet, right now,
Right now, right now, right now,
And you run as fast as you can, blindly
Into pure darkness, long after the lights disappear,
And when you arrive just in time to see
Their first footsteps back into the light of day…
You are far too exhausted to be courageous.
You only want to go home, back to bed,
Back to the comfort of your stupid walls and
Your weird noises and your innocent mirror,
But suddenly you don’t know how to get back there;
Suddenly you are an empty thing with this
One outfit and your heavy breathing and where you
Planned to say, “I have everything to offer you,
I am full of dreams and your eyes understood them”..
All you can muster up is
“Carry me.””

– how I turned myself into a burden. (via jenniferpeach)