I'm Aniya.

Blue Berries and French Kisses.

Chocolate and City and Colour.

You Me At Six is nice and so is Issues.

I live in a suburb of Chicago.

I'm getting better but I still miss you.

I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he call it “Chops”
because that was the name of his dog
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X’s
and he had to ask his father what the X’s meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Autumn”
because that was the name of the season
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And called it “Innocence: A Question”
because that was the question about his girl
And that’s what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
And that was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle’s Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring loudly

That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it “Absolutely Nothing”
Because that’s what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn’t think
he could reach the kitchen

The Perks of Being A Wallflower (via dawndowntoday)

"Winter Wind"
July 21st.


"Winter Wind"

July 21st.

I love autumn because you can break and regrow and the trees accept it.
Because you can have a cold heart and cold fingertips and you will feel at home.
Because when you wake up early and smell coffee and rain you know today will be a day of change, no matter what.
Because everything around us is dying but you are still here. Every day you can tell autumn ‘I made it’, and the leaves are jealous because dying is all they know.
FRS. (via lilith-not-eve)

i. I think I have fallen in love with September because of the way it is the beginning of change, or the end of it. You see, it is the when I say goodbye to my flip-flops and bikinis, when I turn my back on the scorching summer sun. But I am welcomed in the arms of colored leaves and Autumn breezes and I have never felt more in place.

ii. September weeped with me when I was left by the first boy I ever kissed. It witnessed a bright sunflower transforming into a dead tree with bare branches, not a leaf in sight. The dirt swallowed my tears and the wind covered up my cries. It stayed with me night after night until the sleeves of my sweaters dried up.

iii. I learned that trees did not die when the weather turned cooler in September. The falling of leaves is what helps the tree survive through a bitter cold winter. It seals the places where leaves would grow in order to skip the game of death. So maybe people are that way too, closing up and thinking it is the end; but it is not.

iv. Somehow, I like to associate September with endings but I have to say that it has brought many new starts in my life as well. Friendships, new hot drinks at my favorite coffee places, odd adventures, and new feelings.

v. Change isn’t bad. Change is the falling of leaves; one, two, three leaves slowly touching the ground. And between those shades of orange and yellow and brown is a voice calling your name. You may not want to make a mess but you’ll end up with a smile on your face the second you dare to jump in.

A Story A Day #242 by M.D.L

(via mingdliu)

Typewriter Poetry #586 by James Andrew Crosby

Typewriter Poetry #586 by James Andrew Crosby

There is this woman
and the first time you see her
you will feel your throat
open as canal
for the ocean of
“I love you’s” to spill
onto her lips

You will look at her
as she sleeps
and you say to yourself
“My god,
what have I done to
deserve this precious
Your breath on her
neck will be a quivering
“hallelujah” for every night
she decides to stay

She is no easy task
More Medusa
than Aphrodite
Her tongue will be match
for your kindling
She is untamed -
a sea of feathers and knives
at once
She is your destruction
and rebirth
The drowning
followed by resuscitation
is what Bukowski meant
when he said,
“Find what you love
and let it kill you”

"Bukowski’s Talked About This Woman"- K. Wagner  (via th3gr0wnupchild)

does this even make sense or


does this even make sense or


”you said you wanted to take things slow, yet i sawyou speeding around thecity on your motorcycle atmidnight, drunk. i guess therisk of death was more appealing to you than falling in love”


”you said you wanted to 
take things slow, yet i saw
you speeding around the
city on your motorcycle at
midnight, drunk. i guess the
risk of death was more 
appealing to you than 
falling in love”










Verdant September


Come, come
Crashing down
I see your massive
Cloud fingers –
Deep, they delve
Into grassy ground
I hear your thunderous voice
My God, it is a wondrous sound –
But it is within your cooling rain
That I truly wish to drown

Azuki Lynn


I don’t remember the first time I hurt myself
or what the date is tomorrow
or if Thanksgiving is the third or fourth Thursday of November.
I don’t remember my first day of high school
or my best friend’s birthday
or if this month has 30 or 31 days

but I remember three days very well:
the day I met you, the science guy;
the day I realised I was falling in love;
and the day I realised you weren’t.