here’s what your boy’s up to: 

  • making this blog primary operations base or whatever -> moving all  the lit i’ve written from various places on the internet and depositing them here.
  • in the same vein, establishing a proper poetry archive. so if you like my work, it’s all in one place.

things i plan to do / continue doing: make rec lists, give life updates, share writing, make masterlists of writing related things such as all the collaborative work i’ve put out, and all the lit mags / publications i have submitted my work to (so far, just one lit mag. but i’m working on getting my work out there.) 

you can help by telling me more about how wordpress works, and where the poetry community on here is, etc. who are your favourite wordpress writers?? who should i definitely be following? give me all the hacks & suggestions.

see you around!! here is the longer version of this post, if you’re bored & want something to read xxx



what did she just do?

just imported my tumblr blog (didn’t realise you can do that, haha.)  i’ve gotta do some spring cleaning now, you know the drill. get rid of asks, redo the tags on these posts, figure out how to categorize some of this stuff.

i’m moving here full-time, yeehaw.

more work to be done before that transition is complete, though.

love you guys. thank you for your patience (@ anyone who’s been waiting and wondering what the hell is going on with this place.)

the best part of being a poet is making fun of yourself (transcript under the cut, minus formatting because i don’t trust tumblr, sorry)

you don’t have to hold a rose in your mouth. i’m drawing blanks, thinking of having sex on the dinner table –  remember when i was absurdly original

now i’ve
sold my soul to a bass


YOUR BOYFRIEND’S shirts smell like cigarettes. YOU think
of roses & desperation. sun’s out, and YOU still think of jailcells, YOUR
FACE on the missing posters. i think of how we used to be in the days of our
youth, YOU wore that cardigan and YOUR BOYFRIEND wore ripped jeans. he laughed
like honey and cinnamon, i thought YOU loved him like apples, sliced up, red
and cyanide, all fresh and crisp to bite into. and i asked if it was love, and
YOU said something in french. all the hotel rooms are empty, but YOUR jacket
still sparkles in the right light. i’ve been up all night reading siken. YOUR
BOYFRIEND’s been up all night singing songs i heard once on the radio. so do we
put sugar in our wounds now? maybe if we’re high enough, even poison will taste
saccharine sweet. will YOU miss me?

antigoneblue, SIMULATIONS 

a crhy fr hlp // antigoneblue  –  all typos are intentional – thought it’d be neat to make this poem messy in order to show that the narrator’s mind was not in a good place at the time. posted here as well ❤


high school /  i was doing some reflection last night and. this is only a fraction of what i want to say, but it’s something. more coming soon, maybe? i don’t know where i’m trying to take this – there’s something i want to say that i just don’t have words for.