A Poet's Prologue

Musings and memories

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Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt use it — don’t cheat with it.
Ernest Hemingway, “Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald,” 1962 (via wordsnquotes)

(via flightless-fuckersandangels)

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I had this long-winded thing written out about tonight because I felt like being diary-poetic tonight but decided that the only thing that needs to be said about tonight is that I have the most amazing man in my life, who just so happens to come from one of the most amazing families I’ve ever met. I can’t remember a time prior to meeting him where I’ve ever been this happy and just beaming all of the time. That’s not to say that I’m only happy because he’s around, but just knowing of his presence makes my life THAT much better.

I didn’t believe last year around this time when people would say I would find someone who truly deserves me, and someone who will make you feel like everything in the past was a mistake - but now I do. I’m so thankful for every failed relationship, all of the grief, all of the ridiculous nonsense that I have put up with in the past, because now I have a fantastic man in my life whose only tiff with me is that I make fun of his car horn for sounding like a bike horn. I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy, or to feel this safe and at ease.

I didn’t know love was actually easy when you find the right one.

Filed under thoughts relationships love boyfriend happiness

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the ground still softens underneath my hesitated 

steps, the ones you rushed between monday 

mornings at 9am and friday afternoons before

you siphoned grain liquor between your teeth

and called it therapeutic release.

i run my hands along the cracked stone wall,

every sharp edge brushing across my palms

like your lips that fell across my body, laced with

a fire burrowing in your lungs from the vodka

chased with dr. pepper that gave you the courage

to touch me.

it’s funny how life happens, how we spend four

years building dreams out of dollar signs stitched

to the lines in our parents’ over-worked hands because

we foolishly believe their choices are something

to scoff at.

i spent two of those years threading poetry into

the cement walls of empty hallways with my fragile

fists because i didn’t have the patience to recite them to you.

and as i sit here reflecting on every memory ingrown

with the roots that carried me home when i was too

incoherent to even recite your name, i now understand

the worst sins we can commit are the ones against ourselves 

Filed under poetry poem lit creative writing poets of tumblr kristen kane a touch of thought