My first #tbt! I actually remember this day. Mom took me to Kmart for pictures. She made me wear a dress . I cried. And 16 years later I wrote a poem about it. That’s all.

troublewithhammers:

Every year around this time, I break out (and update) my list of ridiculous panel proposals. Co-presenters welcome!

image



1) Napalming Bridges: What NOT to Do in Response to Rejection Letters

2) Olympian Restraint: How to Avoid Poking Students in the Eye After They Say Their Five-Year-Old Sister…

• Cigarettes and Neighborhood Scraps
• A Lifetime Supply of Beanie Weenies and Manwich
• Condoms on the Patio
• Broken Cars and Causes
• I Was Kicked in the Mouth by a Goat Once
• A Reoccurring Nightmare Feat. Pennywise
• The Dog Vomited Shit 
• Go Ahead, Miley, Shave Your Eyebrows. You’ll See.
• I Said “Cum” When I Meant “Phlegm”
• STRIKE! 300 from the Womb

More to cum
phlegm*
COME**

A guilty feeling
with a bittersweet sauce. 
I savored
your absence.
I finished
and forgot.  

Snowpocalypse

Snow Paco’s
lips
tasted
like
iced sausage.

I’ll never do that again.
I bet he was Polish.

I tripped acid twice during sunday school
stole the wine and fed the
communion crackers to the
birds

I twisted and cursed
smoked cigarettes on the
roof and left the ashes in the
urn

ourfriendtom:

There is nothing more annoying than shirt cleavage. The left over white, grey or black from your crew neck t-shirt popping out of your oxford has to stop. It screams to the universe “I never wear dress shirts unless I have to attend church or have a class presentation.” It makes a man look like a…

"I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter, and too hot for you."
— Unknown (via perfect)

(Source: khaleesri)

I’m worse than a bleeding tree!

I wrote one hundred messages,
each one slipped into a separate bottle.

Before I set them out to sea,
I let the salt burn my wounds.

And it was the broken bottles
in my head,
that washed me ashore
and left me for dead.

No messages left.
No message is kept.

"I think that one of these days you’re going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you’ve got to start going there."
— J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (via vagueblueeyes)

(Source: anamorphosis-and-isolate)

I used to fall asleep next to a boy.
Now I fall asleep next to a book.
It feels the same.

I remain fascinated by your obscurity
Could you cure me?
Or would you rather
ignite your eyes
and turn water
into wine

When you write something, and it hurts you like a childhood fever, it’s good. It’s got potential.

I am fall-
ing
asleep.
If I weren’t,
I’d be writing
about you
and wishing you
were here to hold
me while
I’m fall-
ing
asl…