Hey there, I'm Ali. I'm 20 years old. I love to write and read and draw and paint and listen to music much too loudly, as long as it gets me away from where I am.
someone stole my phone
no more drugs in my body please
Today I was rejected for the poetry contest I entered. I don’t really know what I was expecting anyway…but that’s not keeping me from being disappointed. It would have been really cool to be published. Even making it to the next round and having my poetry publicized would have been the sweetest thing.
Now I’m going to buy lacy shit to make myself feel better.
Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey (via quoted-books)
we’re playing a very dangerous game of touching
don’t get addicted to my thereness
no matter how much it soothes you
I promise that platonically sleeping in your bed together
will not cure your loneliness
and just because I seem to have places to stay
doesn’t mean I’ve cured my homelessness
I told you that I’ve been spreading myself thin
over these people
because it seems more reliable
to only be cared about temporarily
but I’ve never met a sheet
that hasn’t been crumpled and kicked to the foot of the bed
and that’s what worries me
and the fact that this has happened before—
when people shake my hand for the first time
can they immediately tell I’m a professional bookend?
I’ve been anxiously refreshing my email for DAYS because of this poetry contest
love how this happens, love it