Kelly Gonzalez

"Sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of it's constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts."
-Edgar Allan Poe


Ask, mate!   Submit
Reblogged from green-berret
Reblogged from mimickingmaelstroms
Reblogged from contramonte
This is not what the door’s for—slamming
you up against, opening
your legs with my knee. And it isn’t
leaving, the thing I keep doing
with my shoes still on, or in the car
in the driveway in broad
daylight after waving
goodbye to your neighbors
again. But my body’s a bad
dog, all dumb tongue
and hunger, down
on all fours again, tied up
outside again, coming
when called but then always refusing
to stay. I know what I’m trying
to say, but it isn’t
talking, the thing that I do with my mouth
to your ear, even though
we got the orifices right. To leave
I would have to put clothes on,
and they’d have to fit better
than all of this skin. To leave
I would have to know where to begin:
like this, pressed up
against the half-open window? Like
this, with my foot on the gas? If seeing
is believing then why isn’t touching
knowing for sure? I just want my nerves
to do the work for me, I don’t want
to have to decide. There’s blood in my hands
for fight and blood in my legs
for flight and nowhere
a sign. Believe me, I’ll leave if you just
let me touch you again for the last
last time.
Ali Shapiro, “I Keep Trying to Leave You but the Sex Just Gets Better and Better” (via contramonte)

(via mooneyedandglowing)

Reblogged from mimickingmaelstroms
Reblogged from wordsnquotes
I think perfection is ugly. I want to see scars, failure, disorder, distortion. Yohji Yamamoto   (via mirroir)

(Source: wordsnquotes, via zackoval)

Reblogged from poetry-and-insomnia
What one writes is based so much on the kind of person one is and the kind of environment one’s had, and has now, that one doesn’t really choose the poetry one writes. One writes the kind of poetry one has to write. Philip Larkin (via poetry-and-insomnia)

"You’re too young to dream of Rome!"
“You’re too young to know what you want in 2 years!”
“You’re too young to see the world!”
“You’re too young to prove us wrong!”
“You’re just too fucking young!”

Fuck. You.

-K.A.G.-

Reblogged from towritepoems

My mother never sat me down to tell me
that humans may run the world but
they don’t own it; that they are the assistant
managers to the hotel they keep finding
new ways to trash, that they build their
society over whichever insecurity is the loudest,
that we, as a race, crave power more
than food, that we will allow others to
starve in every way possible because of it.

My father was a psychology professor, in love
with metaphors and cognition, the way the
human brain could memorize the lyrics to a
song they heard once on the radio but forget
their wedding vows, the way memories are
held differently, like new parents meeting
their child for the first time compared to a
young woman gripping pepper spray by her
side while she walks alone at night.
My father was in love with the way people
formed their sentences, the way people
remembered whose birthday was on
which day, the way people played instruments
based on their lineage and ancestry.
My father was so in love with other things
that he was divorced twice before he
realized being a psychology professor
does not necessarily mean understanding humans.
My father was a psychology professor,
divorced twice, and raised a daughter to still
believe in the infinite nature of marriage.

My mother never sat me down to explain that.

My mother never told me that I had a right to be strong.
Instead, she put me in gymnastics and dance class,
insisting that playing soccer and drums were
simply my “brother’s things”, while I watched
dust gather on the hi-hat, while my brother
sat and picked dandelions on the field. She told me that I couldn’t watch action films because there weren’t any musical numbers.
That I couldn’t take karate because I wouldn’t
make friends. My brother was put into hockey
while I was forced to figure skate. I wasn’t allowed to
touch the knives while making dinner at fourteen but my
brother could play first-person shooting games
at nine years old. I was put in a box as a child,
covered in glitter with a neon pink sign that screamed
‘GENDER’. I tried to understand why it was okay
for the boys in kindergarten to play war but not okay
for the girls to draw with blue crayons. At seventeen,
I’m still trying to understand why, whenever I lift anything,
a man will say: “That looks heavy. Why don’t I take it?” as
if I haven’t been carrying the weight of society’s
prejudicial opinions of my strength on my shoulders for years.

My mother never sat me down to tell me that
not everybody makes it out as the good guy. That movies lie.
That the person I fell in love with doesn’t have to win
every argument just because I don’t know how to
stand up for myself. My mother never sat me down to
tell me that arguments don’t always mean makeups,
that sleeping doesn’t mean feeling rested,
that being scared of abandonment is not irrational,
that sometimes hot baths just make you sweaty and sad,
and that no species on Earth has learned to hate
each other as humans do.

Family Tree by K.P.K

(via towritepoems)

my perfect thing I’ve read

(via itsmylife0kay)

(via kissmehardwasted)

Reblogged from zackoval

I Worry

zackoval:

that I’ll bury myself in a self-made pressure to accomplish

that I’ll give in to depression at it’s worst and shoot myself 

that I’ll never make money doing what makes me happy, and if I’m happy doing something, I’ll never be able to make enough money doing it

that I’ll only ever be a reflection of my own sadness, that no one could see through my faults and love someone that can never really come to terms with their self. 

Reblogged from michaelfaudet
She was a curious girl who loved the smell of old books, chasing butterflies and touching herself under the covers. Michael Faudet (via michaelfaudet)

(via a-dirty-minded-girl)

Reblogged from violentwavesofemotion

…keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Charles Bukowski, from So You Want To Be A Writer (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via zackoval)

Reblogged from one-after-nineonine

one-after-nineonine:

i did a push up why am i still fat

(via xdarkmoon)

Reblogged from fables-of-the-reconstruction
Reblogged from buffysummerslay
  1. You’re doing 90% of the things you said you’ll never do when you were 16.
  2. Helping your mum around the house doesn’t make you her slave. After all, every superhero needs a trusty sidekick.
  3. No one drinks alcohol because they like it.
  4. Coffee doesn’t keep you awake, the habit of drinking it does.
  5. “Growing up” and “taking responsibility” is not the same thing. You can do one without the other.
  6. There are days when chocolate is a perfectly acceptable meal.
  7. Your mother admits she doesn’t always know what’s best for you.
  8. You stop wasting your kisses.
  9. Word “cool” takes on a completely different meaning than it did in high school.
  10. Some people who haven’t touched a book in years start enjoying reading as much as they did when they were 8.
  11. You never tell your younger sibling they’re annoying when they talk about things that interest them. You’ve learned that’s one of the worst feelings in the world.
  12. You find yourself teaching your parents about life, not the other way around.
  13. College is not all that different from high school.
  14. There are still cliques and means girls and popular kids and those less popular.
  15. But you are different. You don’t want to just fit in anymore, you want to belong. You don’t want to stretch yourself to fit into someone else’s skin.
  16. Friends you find in college are most likely for life.
  17. You start fighting stereotypes.
  18. “I love you” loses its dramatic flair. It becomes something you need to hear as much as something you need to say.
  19. You learn that some clichés are real and good - that’s how they became clichés in the first place.
  20. Sometimes, 10pm is way too late to go out.
  21. Or to do anything but sleep.
  22. Your love life is still a soap opera, just with a volume turned down.
  23. People start taking you seriously, whereas a year ago you were still just a child to them. Sometimes you feel cheated out of life because of that.
  24. There are things you start looking forward to as much as when you were a child.
  25. Like Christmas.
  26. And Summer.
  27. And ice cream.
  28. World becomes a never ending hallway of possibilities.
  29. Some days you feel too small, or too big, for your own body.
  30. You don’t mind being yourself because you finally start discovering yourself. It’s new. It’s exciting. It’s like visiting a city you’ve seen in pictures, but they’ve never quite felt right.
  31. Society is messed up.
  32. People in magazines don’t even look human.
  33. Crowds don’t seem so crowded anymore, because there’s always someone you know, or someone you would like to meet.
  34. One month words on paper and scenes on television are so mesmerizing that you don’t leave the house.
  35. The other you start forgetting how your room looks like.
  36. Beauty is everywhere.
  37. Desire to travel rises in you like a hot air balloon.
  38. You don’t postpone studying anymore. You want to get it over with. You want to live.
  39. You use sarcasm more than in any other period of your life.
  40. You get tired of waiting for a cute girl/boy to like you back.
  41. You do something about it.
  42. There are worst things out there than rejection.
  43. Spontaneity.
  44. Confidence boost.
  45. Everyone knows how to dance. Even those who don’t have a clue about it.
  46. Growing older doesn’t seem so scary anymore.
  47. At 26 you feel the same as you did at 22.
  48. You do things you’re going to be too ashamed to tell your children about.
  49. Tequila shots.
  50. Strip poker.
  51. Making out with a complete stranger.
  52. Eating a box of ice cream at 3am.
  53. Watching a whole season of a television show in one day.
  54. Having a Marvel marathon.
  55. Thinking that a box of pizza and six hours of playing a video game is a perfect date.
  56. Take a risk.
  57. Visit a theater every once in a while.
  58. Or a museum.
  59. Go vine tasting.
  60. Or poetry reading.
  61. Join a club. You never know what, or who, you’re going to find there.
  62. Go to a protest.
  63. Join a cause.
  64. You experience heartbreak on a completely other level.
  65. Happiness takes on a new form.
  66. Sometimes it’s everywhere.
  67. Other times it’s nowhere to be found.
  68. You don’t want this period of your life to ever end.
  69. You have a feeling it won’t.
things that happen to you in your twenties (via buffysummerslay)

(via kissmehardwasted)

Reblogged from attuition
You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep
And I don’t believe you when you tell me that my voice is your favorite sound,
Not when you can sing like that.
One of your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee
And the other one burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you
But how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers,
So if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours,
They would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors
And very bad at telling people how I feel
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March
and even though I’m sick of winter,
I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard.

All About Us, #1 (via spvandi)

thegoodvibess-only

(via falling-in-love-is-suicide)

(Source: attuition, via kissmehardwasted)