1. So This Is Where I Am And I Want You To Know That I Am Well.

    On January 1st, 2014 I decided my resolutions were 

    1) Fall in love. 

    2) Get laid. 

     I know, I know, you’re thinking KATHLEEN WHAT WOULD YOUR MOM SAY??????

    Well, to those of you who felt the need to ask that question in all capital letters, my mom doesn’t get to know about the sex life I wished I had (but for some reason, you all do). 

    Welp, four months into this new year, I’m happy to report that I’ve achieved one out of two goals. 

    I’ll leave you all to salivate and wonder which one it is. 

    Spoiler alert: Seen any selfies of me and the mystery man I supposedly fell in love with? No? There’s the answer I  know you’ve been so desperately craving. 

    I moved out of my parent’s house and into an apartment with a roommate who is twice my height and together we adopted three (YES THREE) cats that spend too much time shitting everywhere and not enough time cuddling with their single and highly approachable mom (that’s me). Also, I invested in like a ga-gillion lint rollers because long-haired cats was the worst decision I’ve made since cutting my bangs back in. 

    All jokes aside, I did the thing that every other twenty something does when faced with an opportunity to improve his/her life. 

    "This year will be different."

    Yeah, okay, I lied. 

    It’s so easy to look at everything that’s wrong with your life and imagine that you know how to fix it. Newsflash: the key to self-improvement isn’t always doing the exact opposite of whatever you thought you were doing that was so wrong. It’s taken me the better part of twenty two years to realize this. There are some days when I wake up and everything makes me sad, from how I can’t get my winged eyeliner to look even and that must mean I am un-lovable, to when I accidentally burn toast and feel like I am a college-drop-out with no foreseeable future besides asking people what THEY want on a Friday night. 

    So I got even more sad. And I found someone who couldn’t really look past my smile to see what was so wrong with me on the inside. For a little while, that was fine with me. No one really wants another person to dissect every little thing going on underneath their skin, and I discovered that it’s even harder to find someone who’s willing to take the time to peel back your skin and then put it back exactly the way they found it when you ask at three in the morning because you just can’t fucking sleep in his arms anymore. 

    I went to bed every night for seventy six days and I felt like I was drowning. Drowning in two jobs and drowning in too much laundry, not enough money for groceries and drowning in a never-ending pile of homework that only got bigger when I refused to do it. Drowning in a bout of acne that came out of nowhere and took too long to get rid of, drowning in how much weight I’d put on since I realized I didn’t care where I was going so long as I was moving. 

    On day seventy seven, I woke up and realized that I needed to take a damn break and come up for air. I took three days off, and I slept in till an ungodly hour, I went for hikes even though my ankle injury wasn’t completely healed and I broke up with the boy (okay, okay, man. He was thirty) I’d been stringing along for three months. I realized that when you love someone, sometimes words aren’t enough. You should always treat the the people around you the way you feel. And I was too busy to find time for the man who had taken my virginity and wanted to love me. 

    God, that sounds so shitty. 

    I left, I cried, and then I flourished.

    All my life, I’d been waiting for the excitement that’s supposed to come from finding bits and pieces of yourself in someone else. I’m twenty-fucking-two years old, and thus far, I’ve hated the parts of myself I’ve seen in other people. 

    It’s almost the end of April and I haven’t finished a book yet, 

    it’s almost the end of the night and I haven’t found the person I want to say “I love you” too, 

    it’s almost the end of April and it’s been months since I last imagined him sleeping in my arms, 

    and I”m finally starting to forget the idea I had in my head of how perfect my life should be. 

  2. "

    Look around your college classroom, spot the virgins.

    See, this seems like a game until you skip over the girl with a short skirt and hair in front of her eyes because you heard last summer that she slept with like nineteen guys. You can’t see her hands, but they’re under the table, pulling a rosary through her fingers as she tries to wash the sin off her. She’s only ever kissed three people in her whole life and they’re all girls. She turned down the wrong guy and he told everyone she’s “a whore.” The label “slut” stuck to the bottom of her shoe and swallowed her up.

    But that quiet girl who is always reading probably never touched someone else’s penis, you figure, because you don’t know that she goes home and strips down and pulls on tight black leather, you don’t know she’s got a set of whips that could make any set of knees quiver, you don’t know because she’s proud of what she does but she’s not stupid enough to let anyone know about it. She’s sexy, just not here, not where people judge.

    See, the truth is: you have no idea who has lost their virginity, because it doesn’t change you. It doesn’t give you some kind of glow or superpower or stamp on your forehead. You know the feeling of waking up on your birthday and thinking “I don’t feel any older whatsoever”? That’s what maybe they’re all so afraid of you finding out: sex doesn’t change you. Sex doesn’t make you an animal, sex doesn’t suddenly make your relationship a million times more stable or intimate or romantic - it can’t fix what’s broken, although it can make the pain go away for a bit. Sex doesn’t really occur with eighty tea lights and a thick white rug. Sex is ugly and loud and frequently awkward, sex is excellent and breathtaking and when you wake up the next morning, you’re the exact same person. There’s not some magical connection with the person in bed beside you. Believe it or not, pregnancy isn’t some kind of punishment - but practice safe sex, get tested, don’t spread your germs around. They want to tell you, “Sex can ruin you” and I’ve heard that a lot as a little girl, that some boy would join me under my sheets and then dump me four days after, used, unhappy.

    But I figured out that I’m not a fucking toy. Letting someone have sex with me is not letting them “use” me, because I’m not an object. My father said the issue lay in the fact “Men are insecure and need to know that they’re the best you ever had,” but I think that’s a steaming crock of absolute-wrong and if I didn’t tell the people I’m with how many others I’d slept beside, there would be literally no way for them to know my number, because I don’t rust, I don’t wear out, I don’t get bruised. I’m not a wilting fruit, I don’t go rotten.

    But here’s the thing: some people connect sex and emotion. I don’t personally because I am probably secretly an ice storm in disguise, but I still respect my partner’s desires. If they’re the type to want love and sex to coincide, I let them. I don’t make fun, I don’t pull one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits, because it’s not their “reputation” I’m afraid for: it’s their heart I’m defending.

    Here’s the thing: Instead of worrying about people’s “purity” and how it defines them as a person, worry instead about how you can protect other people’s emotions.

    Because here’s the thing: look around your room and spot the virgins. Look harder. You can’t tell. Sex doesn’t alter people, it doesn’t make them act in a certain way nor dress in a certain manner. Sex and personality have nothing to do with each other. There’s a reason that virginity doesn’t show on someone’s face: because having sex doesn’t cause you to change.

    "I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even love…" /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
  3. Your eyebrow game is ON POINT.


  4. mooneyedandglowing:

    This is the most beautiful song I have ever heard.

    "& I am alone, so don’t speak. I find war, & I find peace. I find no heat, no love in me & I am low & unwell. This is love, this is hell, this sweet plague that follows me & my body’s weak, feel my heart giving up on me. I’m worried it might just be & my body’s weak, feel my lungs giving up on me. I’m worried it might just be something my soul needs. (…) & I see war on the screen & it is cruel & unclean, but I still worry more about you. & I am rude & unkind, have no thought & have no time, have no eyes, so no point of view. (…) & I am more than this frame, I feel hurt & I feel shame, just wish you would feel the same. & I am more than these bones, I feel love, I feel alone, just wish you would come home. I’m worried it might just be something my soul needs, something my soul needs. Something my soul needs is you, lying next to me."

  5. On Washing Yourself Clean(er).

    On the way to the bathroom, someone will ask if you’re alright. Pull your towel closer to your body, clutch it a little tighter and say, 


    Strip each layer of clothing off one piece at a time, making certain to avoid the kind of contact with your body that makes your skin tingle in the kind of ways that scare you. Throw them away. He hasn’t noticed you’re gone yet, and you’ll never wear that dress again. 

    Turn the water on. Turn it all the way to the left. It is important to recognize that the temperature of the water will never be hot enough to do the kind of cleaning your soul needs. Be okay with this. Do not be okay with this. It won’t really matter. 

    I know you are afraid of standing directly under the water. This is not real fear. This is cold feet. But you already knew that, didn’t you? He still hasn’t noticed you’re gone. Put one foot in front of the other. Walk directly under the shower head and open your eyes. Now close them. Open them again, and you will stop seeing those things I know you see. 

    Is the water too hot? Is your skin beginning to turn red? Does it burn? Good. 

    On the shelf is that bottle of body wash you love, the kind with little exfoliating beads. Put too much in your hand, cover yourself up. Rub. Rub some more. Rub harder.  Dig your nails in. Scrub in circles, dig into your flesh. You’re not scrubbing hard enough. Remember, he still hasn’t noticed you’re gone. Keep moving your hands. Stop just before it seems like you could draw blood. 

    If you don’t think you’re clean, I know how you feel. Stand there under the rushing water, let the soap run off your body. Does that spot where he touched you last feel a little fainter? Does the scent of the soap overpower that lingering smell of his cologne, of his old t-shirts, of that last weekend spent loving in places that love can’t be kept alive? Can you still see the faded ink of his I love you's and please don’t leave, it won’t happen again and I am so sorry covering your skin? Can you feel your bodies response, hear your fingers trying to scratch an answer back that isn’t quite an apology for the things he did to your body, to the things you let him do to your soul, and for the things you did to it yourself? Wash your hair clean. Untangle the knots from tossing and turning in a bed that was too big, too empty, too full. When you were eight, your mother told you 

    Learn to recognize when people are not good for you, when they don’t mean to be good for you. Walk away. 

    And then she left. You spent eighteen years trying to fill her void with men who called you the wrong names, who showed up late to your birthday and men who tore your heart apart looking for their fathers between your legs. 

    You and I both know he wont wake for another hour, and your bag is packed next to the back door. You’ve got time. 

    Rinse and Repeat. 

  6. "Hello, I’m a Mess"

    I’ve got 99 problems but a-
    Wait never mind I’ve got 86 problems, and they’re all made-up scenarios in my head that I stress about for no logical reason,

    And I don’t know how to describe myself, but keeping a 2-pack of pregnancy tests under the bathroom sink and paying my rent two days after it’s due feels an awful lot like becoming the adult I thought I was all along,

    And I can’t sleep at night, but I guess that’s alright because I found someone who’s already awake, and there’s not one thing about him that reminds me of you.

    I stayed up till three this morning burning photographs, like that could save me from the last.

    And the year I spent waiting for you to commit those terrible crimes I knew you thought up in your head, I could have spent finding a way to admit I don’t know a damn thing about growing up, but I do know that one plus one equals one less night spent staring at the ceiling all alone,

    And no missed calls,
    Or lousy poke on Facebook
    From you
    Means and has always meant that you don’t want me,

    And it shouldn’t have taken twenty pounds, changing my hair or finding someone else to realize this,

    But it did,

    And I guess that’s alright.

  7. sansgod:




    This guy wears yoga pants and hides his face, then confronts guys who look at his butt.

    This is so funny

    Omg but I’m depressed his ass is nicer than mine

  8. How To Fall In Love, From Someone Who’s Not.

    Ignore the ones who say “I’m just like you” and walk away from the ones who want to get to know you better inside of your bed. What’s underneath your skin is none of their business.

    Avoid the ones who don’t come out at night, because the sunlight is a lot more forgiving than the moon and you shouldn’t have to be.

    Take note of the ones who hide within the corners of your eyes. He will be be one who knows what color your eyes are when the first snow falls.

    Somewhere along the way you convinced yourself that betrayal was a complex thing full of wrong turns, fake friends and regret that keeps you up at night but the reality of betrayal is as simple as your favorite skinny jeans refusing to budge past your knees.

    This is okay.

    Someone will break your heart before your twenty fifth birthday, and someone will tear your heart apart looking for his father between your legs,

    And someone will ask you your worst fears with the intent to use them against you.

    They won’t be the same person. Accept this. Be ready for this.

    The meanest words you will ever hear are “I don’t love you anymore” and they will come out of your own mouth. It will hurt the most because you are realizing your own capacity to inflict pain, and how great it is.

    The longest walk you will ever take will be from his bed to the front door without looking back, and

    From the first floor to the top when you convince yourself that you deserve better.

    Leave behind your spanx during the move, and stop relying on material objects to hold you together.

    One day you will fall in love with a boy who has icicles hanging off the tips of his fingers,

    Don’t let him freeze the parts of you that need warmth.

    And one day you will fall in love with a man who sparks a fire every time his fingers find your skin.

    Let it smolder, please for the love of God,

    Let it smolder.

  9. "Before I am your daughter,
    your sister,
    your aunt, niece, or cousin,
    I am my own person,
    and I will not set fire to myself
    to keep you warm."
    1/? Things To Remember  (via ahyasidi)
  10. It Feels Better Biting Down.

    I fell in love with a boy who tasted like Black’n Milds and a hatred of his mother, 

    who tore my heart apart looking for his father between my legs, 

    and I’ve been living on the leftover crumbs of your love, and I’m starving now. 

    When you left you said we’d see each other soon, but that last word was a lie and I think we both knew it. 

    I fell in love with the way for one split second I could see my breath in front of me during December, and I think maybe it’s because I don’t see you anymore. 

    For Christmas this year you sent me your only copy of Dante’s Inferno, said it smelled like innocence and reminded you of me, 

    but all I could smell was the ancient stink of disappointment and being passed from hand to hand 

    and I wished on every fucking shooting star I saw for the best and worst part of my life to stop being one person. 

  11. Do not plant me in your heart; I grow too quickly.

    Do not plant me in your heart; I grow too quickly.

  12. "We won’t be okay until I realize
    your silences aren’t about me,
    nor is the way you don’t miss
    me when we’re not together or
    the way you can’t say I love you.
    We won’t be okay until you realize
    my insecure hurts aren’t actually
    about you, nor is the way I keep
    forgetting that you love me. We
    are broken down cars tying to
    travel together and we need pit
    stops and check ups and there
    are times that I’ll cry so loudly the
    mechanics will tell you I have too
    many missing parts to be worth
    fixing. But fix me anyway. In many
    ways we are both more scar tissue
    than human, and until we realize
    we keep hurting from our old wounds
    (and not from each other’s hands),
    we will continue to take everything
    so goddamn personally."
    this hurt isn’t your fault. (via anneisrestless)

About me

I'm usually on a longboard, eating a burrito or not wearing shoes. All the good writers were alcoholics, and I aim to be great (sorry mom).