Reblog If You ARE A Woman In STEM, SUPPORT Women In STEM, Or ARE STILL BITTER About Rosalind Franklin

abstract art he says

i dont much understand it

he says its intriguing

i find questions with no answers

he says in a good way

i tell him i can't stand not knowing

he says im like abstract art

i dont much understand it

how do i tell her i made it?

all those nights dreaming of what waking up might feel like. all those mornings still stuck in a dream.

how do i tell her that every week day i wake up at six to greet the blue haze outside my window while i dance to the radio station and put on way too much highlighter?

all those hours longing for satisfaction. all those minutes longing for routine.

how do i tell her my days are full of a life which i live?

all those poems praying for my flame. all those prayers poeticizing the mundane.

For I am become the great pretender betrayer of a youthful me

As I pretend not to be bothered by my bff who questions 'why wouldn't you want to be soldja boy?' a youthful me asks my mom for two halloween costumes since you're not allowed to be a bloody zombie little girl with a knife at school in the second grade

As I pretend my bff is right when she says we can't even at the bare minimum be mean girls since 'none of us are blonde' a youthful me describes to my dad the terrible tumble zombie Alice took not only down down the rabbit hole but down down a muddy cliff and that's the reason her hair is brown

As I pretend not to care when my bff calls my guy 'weird' a youthful me demands that if I must date a man he cannot be conventional in any manor

As I pretend to be unharmed by the unexplained absence of my bff at my clubs squid dissection a youthful me is ostracized and abandoned by her only friend

As I pretend the barber cut my hair wrong when my bff tells me 'it's really short' a youthful me wanted purple and blue died hair cut in a shaggy mullet

As I pretend I don't hate my new skin so much that I claw at it raw and bloody a youthful me swore it 'would only be once and I'd never do it again'

when your mom gives you an oil that helped with her scars

and when your cousin has a semicolon tattooed on his forearm

you just can't help but wonder if you had known it all before

would you do it again?

Night blackens the air where I stand

A crisp chill prickling my skin

Almost midnight

I breathe in

I should be sleeping but I’m not

Woken by nightmares

Silent screams

Hidden terrors

Now outside I look to the sky

Seeing some stars

Through the city lights

Dogs start barking

I’m not alone

Time to re-enter my warmer home

Trudge to my bedroom

Crawl into the sheets

Type out a poem

Then fall back into sleep

Oh how I love the way people love. The fire filled passion dulling to the content flame of long lasting love. But even then the flame burns bright and hot as a dying star. Sometimes it even starts a wild fire. Spreading through unspoken words and the softest of kisses. Every day dream adding wood to the pile, every flirty glance keeping the flame tall and proud. Oh how I can't wait to experience the way people love. To be in love with someone, just two people working to keep their star from exploding into a nova of pain guilt and sorrow. I know some people aren't satisfied with satisfactory but oh I long to be satisfied. To grow old with my one my only and our flaming star burning as bright as the day we fell into that devastatingly dark pit. But until then I will write what I think love is and be laughed at by those who possess such bright beautiful stars.

I am made of flesh I am made of bone

most of which is my very own

I am made of muscle I am made of skin

the likes of which resembles my kin

I am made of stardust I am made of rain

I carry with me my mothers pain

I am made of laughter I am made of sorrow

I am someones dream of a better tomorrow

glass

the earth grumbles beneath you. the walls rattle the hanging picture frames. the glass shatters on the floor, releasing those memories like ghosts seeking closure. you desperately dig through the folds and frantically search the corners. you find nothing but the answer blinding your eyes. knees colliding with the hardwood floor, your heart lets out an agonizing wail, a painful yearning cry. i stand at the door and observe, careful not to step on the shards of glass. after a moment, you grow silent, staring out over the horizon. you are still, except for the rising and falling of your chest as you take hovering breaths. it was inevitable.

jk guys we are so back

"its never over"-jeff buckley

You do poems? that’s kool b/c I used to do poems during my 8th grade year- I use poems to express my feelings sometimes. Makes me happy, what about you?

Yeah I started doing poems in 8th grade too. It helps me get out of my head I don't very much like it in here but being able to see it out there makes it easier. Sometimes I write stuff that makes me happy but usually its the bad stuff that I need to get out. I've been doing good so I might post something more uplifting soon. I hope you continue writing it is a beautiful outlet.