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creations

  • heterodox domain
    new words in old styles tracked on a canvas of brick scribbled by artists  who failed at art school. a presentation of names  ...
  • why hurricanes are named after people
    fear was quiet, she kept to herself.  she was the type of girl people read books about.  fear wore a cross necklace every day but she d...
  • until daylight apologizes
    we've managed to connect stars into constellations and feelings into words and we've memorized the night sky  based upon the l...
  • tribute to rosyln
    i apologize mother maybe you've only seen black and white but god is the best artist   because hideous dangers are ...
  • dictionary
    in fifth grade english class we had to bring books to school. i always forgot mine so my teacher made me read the dictionary words on w...
  • symphony no. 18
    at four years old my fingers touched the keys for the first time and i wondered why the only song i could play was called "chops...
  • because we are anchored in bones
  • ..and so i just kept writing to myself
    january 12th, 2014 : i haven't slept through the night in probably a year  january 19th, 2014 : alright. story time.  february 2nd, ...
  • what about track two?
    you know those songs in the middle of the album, the ones that people don't know about.  the ones where you really have to try to f...
  • a letter to myself.
    days are going by faster now, the nights are longer, the morning breeze is colder. the wind blows on my newly showered ears, stic...

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agnes obel
"don't feel stupid if you don't like what everybody else pretends to love."
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agnes obel

[brooklyn chase]


Nobody taught her that she doesn't have to die with every unsteady breath,
And nobody taught her that "fuck you" doesn't mean "I love you"

She's watching herself go wild
She's watching herself go without any place to come back to

Her heart beats so deep beneath all the sheets of pain
I could give every tear she's crying a name
Eyes swollen shut and gut too anxious to take food,
She goes again

He cuts her up and looks inside
But she takes it lightly
And she speaks quietly

Because he will always be
Just another boy
Who takes what he wants from her

When he got what he wanted,
He says she's the right person but it's the wrong time
She has all the time in the world when it comes to him
But he has none when it comes to her

She thought he could save her
But he just drowned her
In alcohol
And long apologies after explosive arguments
And threats to break up
Threats to beat up

Mistrust became her gospel, fear her bible
She stopped believing in heaven
And she stopped believing that anything good
Could be beyond this place

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barbed wire coils itself precariously around the edges of the prison
it can be difficult to tell 
what they are trying to keep in,
and what they are trying to keep out

chain-linked fences standing upright as soldiers do.
only what they are told,
only what they have convinced themselves they are built for.
but is anything built for what it ultimately becomes

they have been defined as the single worst thing they have ever done
we don't remember that they are brothers,
husbands,
fathers,
friends.
we don't remember that they are people worth remembering.

it's the sort of thing that reminds them that they once existed beyond this place,
and they still do. 

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if the grow up committee asks,

tell them i still remember my first day of kindergarten 

and i hate spending money, 

because i'm afraid of letting things go. 

tell them i still use coloring books

and that i play with my food when i'm full.

tell them i haven't forgotten my favorite lullaby, 

but i can't remember the quadratic formula

tell them i'm old enough to see r rated movies

but not old enough to make that choice because

i'm no longer a child

but not yet an adult.  

tell them my heart is scattered on all sides of the globe 

and my mind can be a million places at once

but people tell me im a good listener. 

tell them my cap and gown are a few sizes too big 

and my dreams seem to be out of stock

but i haven't given up yet. 

tell them i'm taking bigger steps every chance i get,

and that im tired. 

tell them that you think i'm ready,

and tell them

well maybe don't tell them, 

that i'm not. 






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i apologize mother

maybe you've only seen black and white

but god is the best artist 

because hideous dangers are always decorated beautifully.

your words are only the stitches,

so i won't keep trying to immunize with avoidance

and i'll be better at distinguishing my dreams from 
my conscious life.

please hear me,

i'm burning the fears out of my head

because my prayers are only whispered after midnight.

so if you must bleed, your scars you must keep

and if you must die, die with the things that kept you 
alive.

because everything can be even more beautiful 
when they're dying. 

-rosyln luna grey
(emily moyle)






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we've managed to connect stars into constellations
and feelings into words

and we've memorized the night sky 
based upon the location of the north star

and we are all moving,
changing.



we are running back home to tell everyone about our 
trip to paris. 

but just remember,

wherever you are, i am too
just put your thumb to the moon

and even though the sun returns too soon,
darkness comes back. 

aquarius, orion, cornelia boom, harold miner
up there already.

they're reminders always above our heads,
of the six feet beneath our own

but i hope that someday, 
we will live among the skies too

so the next time you look at the stars,
know they look back 

making constellations of us too.











Brooklyn Chase 

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at four years old my fingers
touched the keys for the first time
and i wondered why the only song i could play
was called "chopsticks"

six years old i was finally big enough 
to tell people i play,
without them thinking i was kidding

ten years old i wrote down 
"musician" when asked to 
describe myself in one word 

 eleven years old i learned to 
express my feelings 
in scales and chords

at thirteen i quit lessons 
because it wasn't cool anymore

fifteen years old i thought 
that the guitar
could make me feel the same way

sixteen years old i forgot
that my outlet contained 52 white keys
and 36 black

seventeen years old i played for him, 
because i never did 
when he was on this side of the country


eighteen years young i am playing for me,

and i don't care who's listening




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