Memoirs of a Musician

I find myself wearing the same outfits a lot and I still can’t tell if its accidental or if I’m just too afraid to change. I once kept a profile picture for over half a year and its not that I liked it because I really didn’t but its because I didn’t want to see myself in pictures anymore. I still bite my nails and I pretend I can’t help it but I really don’t think I’d know what to do with them if they were grown out.

Last night you called me again and I felt that little drop in your stomach you get when roller coasters start to fall - you know the one - but I still acted like there wasn’t a strange mixture of sadness and loneliness and inexplicable terror all boiling in the back of my throat. I don’t know if you bought the idea that I’m okay but I do know you were the one who hung up. I don’t know if I hate what happened because I hate it when things become different or if I hate what happened because I miss you.

We haven’t exchanged messages in 76 days now and keeping track is pointless, I know that, but I still refuse to stop counting. Forgetting numbers has always been a struggle for me because I still remember my house phone number from when I lived in a completely different state but I’m trying my best to drag yours out of my head. I’m trying my best to stop checking for your name on my phone every morning.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you and it’s killing me.

Or maybe I’m just scared of what happens when I get over you: a collaboration between Alyssa (x) and Raquel.
(via inkskinned)
Saturday, May 24, 2014

I hope the corner of that couch where the back meets the seat meets the armrest to the right
I hope that corner soothes your eyes and burns your skin
I hope you see my shadow and I hope my body left an impression
in some corner of your heart
I hope your heart is a sphere
I hope a strand of my hair, the sunbeam that caught my eye, the part of me that caught you on fire
I hope part of me stays there
I hope it never gets caught in a cobweb
and I still flow flow flow through your arteries
and roll through your mind
I hope I’ll always belong in a thought of yours
i hope you see the moon
and hope for me too

I hope you always make it home

blueberry wine and prose (of my own & hemingway’s & plath’s), what more could I want?

kiss me
because then, even though my throat is choked with tears
you can taste the emptiness
the lack of other lovers
how you were the first & last on these lips
(some things you just can’t forget)

Saturday, November 23, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
"She said, ‘I’m so afraid.’ And I said, ‘why?,’ and she said, ‘Because I’m so profoundly happy. Happiness like this is frightening.’ I asked her why and she said, ‘They only let you be this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you.’"
Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner   (via hattiewatson)
Wednesday, October 16, 2013



an english major, an art major, and a film major walk into a bar

they all get ridiculed for pursuing what they love

Friday, October 11, 2013

She told him she couldn’t sleep with his fingers so tangled in her hair
And his mouth so buried in her neck
But that was before she realized
Her hair was in her eyes
And her neck was cold as ice
Without his comfort and security there

I’m still trying to figure out
If I love this road enough to stay on it
Or if I’m just too afraid of what may lie at the end of the others
I’m not sure I’ll ever decide


I wrote a poem
by all of the other girls
you’ve slept with.
It was long
and dark,
like the third ones hair,
but this isn’t that poem.
This poem
is the one I wrote
when the shaking stopped
and I was finally able
to control the beat.
This poem
is the one I wrote
when I realized
that her waist line
isn’t mine
and yet it’s still the place
you rest your hands
at night.

Run your hands through my hair
Replace the cooled off air in my throat with the warmth of yours
I have not forgotten how to love
I am not so stagnant you must throw me out
I am a stronger wave now
Strong enough to realize
I have never loved you well enough

Tired Foxes: I am round face not herI am suck-it-in not herI am brown hair, grey...


I am round face not her
I am suck-it-in not her
I am brown hair, grey roots, bad skin not her
I am get drunk on a Wednesday not her
I am fat gut, huge thighs not her
I am couch not gym not her
I am books and binders not her
I am callouses on my heart not my hands not her
I am insecure not her

Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013