One of my reviewers said it best... happiness really is this simple. [series]

I was never inked into your life like that.

a collection of dreams

When Dane becomes a self-destructive wreck, he decides to leave town and forget everything he once knew. Everything except the fact that Leandra was dead. But maybe with the help of a teenage runaway, some matchboxes, and a gun, that could change, too.

A boy in my school has died. He was hit by a car. His name was Danny, and he sat next to me in Math, period four. Oh, and one other thing about Danny...he copied my homework. All. The. Time.

old things that were and new things that may be. a pillow book, but more rhythmic.

and maybe it still is. /collection-fp pennames/

but we're still hoping for a comeback tour. -pillowbook VII

at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet. pillow book.

i edited it a lot

I can finally taste the sugar in my coffee.

cerebral masturbation. strange days collection

and trace the millenniums on your skin

maybe this will be more personal. pillowbook three.

i'm like you

a compilation of hearts.

and she sunbathes topless so the neighbors can see her.

you were right about the y's.

i would kill to write like you, would live to kiss like you

a liar, more likely than not.

insomnia is a bitch.

you don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid; a color theory

...i'm pretty, right?

not what I am now. love

the fireflies are alive

but the poet is very much alive.

I will start and end with this. pillowbook

swallow the regrets

She smellt so sweetly of cigarettes. Femmslash.

this is how it happened.

if i were a fish, i wouldn't have to break free of your embrace.

yawnyawnyawn

don’t drink the anticipation!

Oh, Icarus.

away with no hesitation.

this is not art.

sincerity is just a nine-letter word for goodbye.

The bell tolls its blessing. Poetry prose.

everything I've been writing lately is a piece of the past. so far, minnesota uninspires.

sucked my lip and colored your hair Blue My Mind.

because innocence isn't the style anymore.

They lay at your feet waiting to be picked up. Since I cant seem to find the words to say, I'll put them in this pillow book instead. My thoughts, feelings, everything I have ever felt about anything rest quietly in this story. Solve the puzzle if you can

My boyfriend is making out with a geek suffering from identity crisis. God help me.

I had a huge falling out with one of my best friends. And now...I'm kind of seeing her for who she is.

Poetry Excercise Question: 'Have you ever found money in the street'

i am still so sorry.

we kept so many secrets.

this is not a pillowbook, because i can't make promises, i can't make guarantees. this is whateverwemakeit. this isn't happeninghappeninghappening it is. i am pulling out my own spine, vertebrea by vertebrae and it is beautiful and it is grotesque.

winter's got me hopelessly romantic; yet you hide somewhere in the deepest parts of december, exhaling vanilla lace.

I have decided that I will write letters to myself using my logical Conscious against my emotional Subconscious as an attempt to change things about myself that cause negative feelings. I'm too old for a diary but not for a good self-talking-to.

i left in a shoebox, this morning.

the world was bigger and the sky went on forever.

and I miss you as wide as the flat prairie skies.

and you see, i am terribly afraid of that horrid cheshire cat

she moves like a giraffe through a river.

and you will know the taste of love. but it might be more bitter than you expect.

He was a tomato in a garden of vegetables; it could be argued that a tomato is a vegetable, but no amount of rhetoric will make it stop being a fruit. This Samson had also realized.

if you can't hold yourself together, why should i hold you now? /pillow collection #2/

those old dimples are just a dance step away.

hello muse, meet my body. should you two decide to be friends, i would appreciate it very much.

i can still feel you in my hands.

but this hoodie doesn't smell like you though...

it gets at me in a bad way, sometimes.

... I have to lose my pelvis.

maybe i need to start writing from the middle

maybe the stars don't like to fall. -iambic diameter-

we hug like a double helix.

When she's invited to visit the woman she never got over, Chris decides to pretend for an evening that she too has moved on, bringing her gorgeous "girlfriend" as proof. Ok, so the girlfriend's a rental, so what? It's only a few hours, what could go wrong

it's hard to say where i'm even going anymore

i'd be a feather, if it was as easy.

Guess what, guess what,' she says; voice tight on the edge of her tongue like a suicide jumper.

smooth is best, and chunky is generally not. this goes for boys as well as peanut butter.

so she'll make like the wind and carry him home - she will, she will.

a random rumble jumble of words. not quite poetry, not quite prose.

is this what desperation tastes like?

and it seems i may never be free.

your jargon, it's everywhere; bleeds my skin dry.

Just some dreams I had last year. I haven't been recording them recently. I wonder why that is?

but you're lying… down, my vines binding you to the forest floor where i mark my territory – you sweat the shapes of snakes as my mouth crumbles & rises, working savage magic to remove their venom.

for so long i thought i was. til my hopes were so high that your kiss. might break me. so won't you? f/f, femmeslash

but no one thought the same could go for you.

Inspired by my grandmother who had Alzheimers, and perhaps a little by "The Notebook."

the same girl.

you could learn a thing or two from a plastic mannequin.

they want me to come home.

She asked me to describe her. There were no words that were good enough for her...One shot. R R

/t just in case.

i am everything you are, and i hate it.

refugee boy.

STAND FOR NOTHING. APPRECIATE EVERYTHING.

You just don't understand what it's like to love. You're scared by it--how it makes you open, so susceptible to getting hurt. Well, I'm sorry to break it you: but we don't always get what we want. — Het, slash, & femmeslash. Series.

I never talked to Caroline. I only loved her sixty five percent, and she had the kind of blonde hair that turns brown when it's wet, and I don't like brunettes.

i don't know whats hard, the forgetting or the not forgetting. i won't have you in my mind anymore.

a series of events leading up to what you and i could have been.

won't you be my girl anachronism?" i whispered. "yes," she sighs, breathlessly happy. femmeslash f/f 76 short scenes

They're not in love with each other, they're in love with themselves. And that's the biggest tragedy they'll ever have to learn to comprehend.

like bullets

anything is better than nothing

at the bottom of her e-mail, there was a simple line that struck me and made my fingers itch to touch the keys of my keyboard again.

martyrdom is for fags, anyway [gen]

.

you know the saying. better late than never.

i fall in love with the other bus patrons when i'm bored.

so lovely it's illegal

Today should have been just another Wednesday. But my goldfish died.

she's an origami girl, arms and legs folded like tiny paper cranes

an observation...im back but this is old material

You aren't the woman I thought you were.

i will read my poetry to this boy and then tell him i didn’t write it. this boy won’t believe me. this boy will let me write poems on his arm. this boy’s body will be my notebook.

[Sequel to Love Triangles, femslash] I said, Ellie rolled her eyes, Aly's way better than you. She's nicer and she plays with me too!

[femslash, sappy] we are quite alike, scientifically

your neck looks good slit.

blue [VERY short poem]

[Girlyslash] Smoke can kill you, but I think she'll be the death of me long before the lung cancer sets in.

purely for airplanes in the sky and mushoo's amusement.

sometimes i wonder.

shehe wishes so hard. (transgender trigger)

[just to break hiatus] love is blind

when you keep going back.