caseyyy

all of the lipsticks i own.

Thu, 09 May 2013 23:54:00 -0400

all of the lipsticks i own.

this is me in 2 tweets. boooooooooooooooom.

Sat, 04 May 2013 07:43:24 -0400

this is me in 2 tweets. boooooooooooooooom.

"I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the..."

Sat, 04 May 2013 07:42:48 -0400

“I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the top of the beer can.”

- Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals. (via brutalite)

the summer we forgot to breathe

Wed, 01 May 2013 15:50:00 -0400

cereal in a bowl, milk in the glass
beside one another we shared
like warm cigarettes on a brisk night,
fancy perfumes to mask the scent
and to take the off the years we knew
we were bound to gain.
we were there.
connecticut country homes
teenaged gatsbian fantasies
red solo cups in trunks, sharpie on arms
like bruises in the morning—-they
couldn’t know
we were fulfilled
like empty bellies draining
iced coffee cups
the smell of the heat from the pavement
after the early evening rain
with the windows down in your
16th birthday present.
bodies sprawled on a couch,
his brother’s juice boxes on granite
writing on her thighs,
using the foyer rug as a blanket
and the dog as a pillow passed out
beneath the chandelier, we were
a scene.
Alarms at 6am
slightly tipsy in
last night’s clothes
we jumped into cars and drove to
the 24 hour diner and
entertained the
Greek men, eating pancakes.

Like an episode
of The O.C. we
raced the sun
rise due east
to sit upon the
rocks of shorelines;
to spend a moment like
we were forever
cliches
don’t turn into
reality,
they turn into
perceptions—-changed
over the years we
didn’t know where
we’d be so far from now
but we drove
out of the sun
and into our beds
leaving behind
teenaged crime scenes.

#blueridge #parkway #fuckmy #lungs #orlyfe #facebook #rocks...

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 16:08:19 -0400

#blueridge #parkway #fuckmy #lungs #orlyfe #facebook #rocks #lungs #instamodel #2012 #tumblr #softgrunge #softpunk #mediumgrunge #adequatelypunk #everythingsucks #the end

All college boys were supposed to carry guitars on their backand play at open mic nights ...

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 20:45:00 -0400

All college boys were supposed to
carry guitars on their back
and play at open mic nights
and sing artful covers of rap songs
and sing to all the girls in the audience,
but just one you in particular.

All college boys were supposed to
            look like James Dean/Deen
or James Franco, or Justin Vernon, or the lead singer from Vampire Weekend;
            dark hair, scruff on their faces, heavily lidded eyes,
            and a raspy voice from one two many cigarettes,
with cardigans from Goodwill, and button-downs secretly from J.Crew, and           flannel shirts from their grandfather.

All college boys were supposed to
meet you at
a party you were both crashing, standing up against a wall, sharing glances as the
only two strangers in the place and
shyly ask for your number or
approach you on the mall
reading Salinger, or Vonnegut, or Fitzgerald
discussing themes and novel taste, and invite you to dinner sometime after.

All college boys were supposed to
invite you over, a few weeks later, sober.
and ask if you were okay with getting closer.

All college boys were supposed to
            use protection.
            to show you a clean record of their past and future lovers,
and tell you the exact origin of the red and green bite on his shoulder
            before you knew what you were getting into.

All college boys were supposed to
            respect you,
            call you back,
            take you out to coffee one last and final time.
Before running away and moving onto another girl.

All college boys were supposed to
            make you realize your
expectations
            were to never
            be
            met.

wrote this for the on-campus poetry mag. subject: “great sexpectations” (I know its...

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 17:19:29 -0400

wrote this for the on-campus poetry mag. subject: “great sexpectations” (I know its typical but I’m happy with the way it turned out)

They said
candlelight,
and lots of it
“turn the lights off and play some Barry White ———

makes the mood better.”

You said
to come over—but we’d have to take the bus
“I promise I broke up with her ____
I want you so badly.”

They said
pain
is an immediate response
but fruits become popped from
horses, and fence posts, and bicycles.

You said
            to relax and
it wasn’t that big of a deal.

but They didn’t know,
            about the blood splattered
            on your mom’s floral sheets a
teenaged crime scene

and how (I promised you 8 times that night I’d buy you new ones)

and You didn’t know
            that you were my first
and how embarrassed I was
or that I called my mom
            and my sister and cousin because
            it was about damn time.
or how my friends bought me celebratory ice cream from the dining hall.

We didn’t know
what would become out of

2 bodies
joined together
for the
first time.

"his body just a long shadow seeking yours but you are always too intense frightening in the way you..."

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 16:43:00 -0400

““his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head””

- god this fucking poem is summing up my life right now.

"you can’t make homes out of human beings someone should have already told you that and if he wants..."

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 00:03:56 -0400

““you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.””

- for women who are difficult to love - warsan shire

i dont even wanna booty call. just a booty cuddle.

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 00:59:42 -0400

The Last Breakup Poem I'll Ever Write

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 15:27:29 -0400

And I’ve seen a google quote search
that said, if you love
something
let it go
and something about
how when it comes back,
it’s yours,
but it never calculated
an addiction to another person.

It never put emotions into the equation
or seasons,
like the fact that we last kissed in the fall,
adding that time in the winter when we almost
gave ourselves up again,
subtracting that time in a few months later
you told me you met someone
multiplying that by the amount of “I miss you-s” and “babe-s”
thrown around in conversation.

So what happens
when you can’t get rid of one another
in the seasons of you,
and cliché lines
written about the both of us
and the boys in between.

How do the stanzas fit
and the metaphors work when
there was never an ending to a
relationship built upon
tumult and a false sense
of security?

Do you continue to stretch the nostalgia?
Or work in the lines of happiness
clouded with sadness and misjudgment
from former times?

You say goodbye to the thoughts;
bury them in a casket of metaphor and
deleted text messages,
borrowed lines from the conversations
and “I wish we could haves” from the past,
decorate them with flowers and without regret
say goodbye as you close the casket shut.
Only looking back
on the positive as you
set it to rest,
peacefully.

Because in the end were simply
afraid of
us collapsing onto ourselves
like we often wanton do.

The last breakup poem I’ll ever write
isn’t a
bitter write off
but a mourning letter of love
from me,
to you.

They say that life begins 24 hours after your first one night stand. Pregnant with doubt, guilt, and...

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 22:59:00 -0400

They say that life begins 24 hours after your first one night stand.

Pregnant with
doubt,
guilt, and
humility.
And the fetus will grow fingernails within months
and we’ll accidentally name it after the kids we
hated in elementary school,
but in the end you’ll name it after yourself,
because you thought roman numerals were aesthetically pleasing and
you really were always that selfish.

And you would pay child support
and teach it how to ride its first bicycle
and call it booger or poopy or some endearing word that would
eventually become gross over time.

You would walk out eventually,
but not quietly.
You always had a flair for the dramatic.
Because when your dad had left
you thought you could do the same
although you had sworn you wouldn’t end up that way.

And they told me that your life begins 24 hours after your first one night stand.
Until you can give yourself up.
When you’ll discover
that you’re really only concerned for yourself
in the first place.

But we’ll never know
if life were to begin when we
wake up and you
make us coffee
and how I only like it with 2 sugars and a splash of milk
and invite me to spend the day with you
and treat me unlike a stranger.
Instead of
unsticking me from your sheets and
pointing me towards the door.

And we’ll never see babies grow
together and
they’ll never see the fine lines that grow
upon our faces
and we will forever be a cliché
written about in bitter poems or
love songs
and we will never become silhouettes
together.

And they say that life begins 24 hours after your first one night stand.
Because you’re so desperate for the idea of something

that you’ll sleep for it.

I got this in my P.O. Box at school today. Adressed to me on the...

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 17:33:44 -0400

I got this in my P.O. Box at school today. Adressed to me on the envelope, the return address reading TK and a place out in the mountains on the edge of town.

I don’t know if you’re reading this right now TK, whomever your name may be, but thank you.
The kindness and inspiration of strangers never ceases to amaze me.

A mysterious letter shows up in my p.o. Box. I’m taking it...

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 14:00:13 -0400

A mysterious letter shows up in my p.o. Box. I’m taking it as a sign. Thank you, stranger.

The Ghosts of the 1st City And they say that the streets have been haunted from the first time the...

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 16:44:00 -0400

The Ghosts of the 1^st City

And they say that the streets
have been haunted from the first time the settlers
set foot upon land
and James Oglethorpe had named it
and paved the streets
with brick and cobblestone upon the river.

Before the paper mills polluted the river
and art students occupied the pre-war buildings,
when Pulaski was the fort to protect during the war and
Juliet Gordon Lowe wasn’t thinking her organization
would be turned into glorified camping and the face of
annual boxes of cookies.

And they say that the restaurants in Savannah are haunted
from angry patrons and people who have built over land
trying to take back what is rightfully theirs
from the 1800’s or something like that
no one will ever really know.

They hide in the Spanish moss on the trees
creeping in the parks and the squares,
encroaching on to your private space,
watching your every conversation and move
while you admire their haunting beauty.

That shop on the corner of Broughton and Bull is haunted
with the money you ended up spending too much of,
before you ever knew that there would be a recession
in the near future.

And you can still hear the *cha-ching* of the cash registers,
the ghost of the credit card debt forever remaining.

Smells from the paper mill across the river
still haunt the city,
“the savannah shit” never allowed to leave
the noses of those who go,
the haunting reminding the of home.

And there is an island off the coast of Savannah
with a home established in the 80’s
right near the country club, with a view of the golf course
and its haunted with the relics of
a former life
of those who occupied it,
long different than the one they’re living now.
And if you drive by very closely at night,
you can see the shadows of
a family once barely being held together.
You can faintly hear the keys of the Chickering piano being played in the parlor
and the tears of the youngest daughter in her pink bedroom upstairs
and the mother pacing in the master suit at 1 am, waiting for her husband to get home from another business trip
or maybe another venture to the bar after work.

And the family escaped the island
in search of something more
with the paper mill and marsh smell still in their noses
leaving behind a six-year streak of memories.
And they will be gone and never return
to the way things were,

But the ghosts of the first city will remain.

I CAN’T STOP LISTENING TO THIS SHIT. HAPPY MONDAY...

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 10:39:04 -0400

I CAN’T STOP LISTENING TO THIS SHIT. HAPPY MONDAY EVERYONE.

b yung b dope b proud LIKE AN AMERICAN~~~~~**~ homemade cat...

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 17:11:00 -0400

b yung b dope b proud LIKE AN AMERICAN~*~*~*~*~**~

homemade cat ears, thai beer shirt and no makeup (yet) FOR DA CAT PARTEEE

GIRLS LOVE ADAM AND RAY

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 12:28:02 -0400

whatshouldwecallgirls:

via mayoneggg

Photo

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 19:03:41 -0400

"Can you be a loyal and loving gf, would you be a good mother? Or are you like most other girls that..."

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 22:54:00 -0500

““Can you be a loyal and loving gf, would you be a good mother? Or are you like most other girls that just want to go out yoloing and have fun getting attention from men for being sexy and leading a meaningless mtv style life?””

- the men of okcupid from boone, everyone

caseyyy

all of the lipsticks i own.

this is me in 2 tweets. boooooooooooooooom.

"I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the..."

the summer we forgot to breathe

#blueridge #parkway #fuckmy #lungs #orlyfe #facebook #rocks...

All college boys were supposed to carry guitars on their backand play at open mic nights ...

wrote this for the on-campus poetry mag. subject: “great sexpectations” (I know its...

"his body just a long shadow seeking yours but you are always too intense frightening in the way you..."

"you can’t make homes out of human beings someone should have already told you that and if he wants..."

i dont even wanna booty call. just a booty cuddle.

The Last Breakup Poem I'll Ever Write

They say that life begins 24 hours after your first one night stand. Pregnant with doubt, guilt, and...

I got this in my P.O. Box at school today. Adressed to me on the...

A mysterious letter shows up in my p.o. Box. I’m taking it...

The Ghosts of the 1st City And they say that the streets have been haunted from the first time the...

I CAN’T STOP LISTENING TO THIS SHIT. HAPPY MONDAY...

b yung b dope b proud LIKE AN AMERICAN~*~*~*~*~**~ homemade cat...

GIRLS LOVE ADAM AND RAY

Photo

"Can you be a loyal and loving gf, would you be a good mother? Or are you like most other girls that..."

b yung b dope b proud LIKE AN AMERICAN~~~~~**~ homemade cat...