my own literary self

As I walked down the city streets,
I could feel the dirt and grime settle on my skin
Like dust when the scorching heat beats
Down on me and everything within.

There are people walking all around me,
Like they really care about where they’re headed.
Well they’re goddamn mistaken if they thing they’re free;
They’re trapped in futures that I have dreaded.

Don’t they ever wish everything would stop?
That all the goddamn frustrations would fuck off?
All those bastards with age think they sit atop
A throne, when they’re really eating shit out of a trough.

I wanna do something real, something that goddamn matters.
The trouble is, nothing seems to matter anymore.
When I dream up a life for me, someone shatters
It because they don’t have anything to live for—

Then again, neither do I.
It seems impossible to do anything pure
When these vile, weakened bastards are all you come by.
From them, only filth will you procure.

There’s only one goddamn person in the world
Who doesn’t pretend about anything:
Old Phoebe. She keeps from feeling I’ve been hurled
Into a pit where innocence has never been seen entering.

Around and around she goes on the carousel,
Moving like the hands on a clock
Only nothing changes, nothing moves;
It wish it would never goddamn stop.

~Grace

"Futures I Have Dreaded", a poem I wrote from the perspective of Holden Caulfield.


tennants-hair:

*wraps blanket around favourite character*

*wraps arms around favourite character*

*wraps entire existence around favourite character*

*hisses* dont touch him


i-heart-mmfd-and-gendrya:

This is heaven. I’m actually in heaven. He’s using. His thumb. To tap. Oh my god, he’s a sex wizard.

Remember that locker kiss when Finn had his hand on Rae’s knee? I like to think that’s what lead to this as well. They were kissing and his hand is on her knee then it slowly creeps up on her thigh.


elluvias:

heterophobicgoat:

stupidandreckless:

NOOOO NO NO NONO FUCK FUCK  FUCKIG CBS IS TELLING WOMEN NOT TO REPORT SEXUAL HARASSMENT BECAUSE IT WILL “DAMAGE THEIR CAREERS” and “HARASSMENT IS AN UNFORTUNATE PART OF CLIMBING THE LADDER” I AM SO ANGRY THEY ARE LITERALLY TURNING SEXUAL HARASSMENT INTO A NORM THIS IS NOT OKAY

This is an actual article and I’m still having a hard time believing it’s real.

IF YOU ARE SEXUALLY HARRASSED YOU REPORT THAT SHIT


“How a human being could have attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before he had finished a dozen chapters is a mystery.”
Graham’s Lady Magazine (1848) on Wuthering Heights [via]

cinemove:

Bright Star (2009) dir. Jane Campion

hands


library-heaven:

booktown:

summerscourtney:

booktown:

Because I won Courtney Summers giveaway, I still have a duplicate and a ton of bookmarks i’m doing a giveaway! 

Rules:

  • You must be following me
  • You can reblog/like this as many times as you’d like
  • The winner will be decided May 22nd 2014 at 12pm eastern time via a random number generator 
  • The winner receives a copy of Fall For Anything by Courtney Summers (It’s an amazing book btw)and two signed bookmarks!
  • The winner’s ask box must be open and be willing to give me their address (It will stay private of course)
  • Any other questions, just ask :)


You should enter this contest.  That book might be good!  You never know.

If the author tells you to enter this contest, you definitely should. 

A signed bookmark to match my This is Not a Test *-*


“Suddenly you’re ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you’re alive and it’s spectacular.”
—Joseph Campbell  (via fleurlungs)

utterlyvintage:

Happy 450th Will, 23rd April 2014

utterlyvintage:

Happy 450th Will, 23rd April 2014



dorkfeyrac:

people that are dorks but also sexually attractive need to either stay away from me or get very very close to me


Happy birthday to my husband, William Shakespeare!

Making bosoms heave since 1564.


My happy morning face.

My happy morning face.



asymptotejournal:

"Literature was not born the day when a boy crying ‘wolf, wolf’ came running out of the Neanderthal valley with a big gray wolf at his heels; literature was born on the day when a boy came crying ‘wolf, wolf’ and there was no wolf behind him."
Happy 115th birthday, Vladimir Nabokov!1899 – 1977

asymptotejournal:

"Literature was not born the day when a boy crying ‘wolf, wolf’ came running out of the Neanderthal valley with a big gray wolf at his heels; literature was born on the day when a boy came crying ‘wolf, wolf’ and there was no wolf behind him."

Happy 115th birthday, Vladimir Nabokov!
1899 – 1977


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