Light A Candle, Don't Say A Prayer For Me/Feel Alone Cause I’m Gone

I’m gonna be honest, chief, that was the most punk thing I’ve seen from an artist in a long time

i’m in a winter mood, (i’m) dreamin’ of spring now

i miss sitting in the back of a pickup truck with my best friend. playing in the mud and making swords out of sticks. boys will be boys (until one of them’s a queer). We were like family until i came out was outed. if you read this i think you’d know who you are. cause you said i was your only friend and then spat in my face the next day. that awful day. all i wanted was for things to stay the same. all i want is my childhood back. please. my lips are bloody and my knuckles are bruised. i’m the same person i was back then, so why the hell don’t i mean the same thing i used to mean to you?

I’m the type of guy to gaslight myself into being straight . I know this because unfortunately I’ve done it 7301965 times and it hasn’t worked any of them..

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

Thanks for the tag @youreyesaremyfavoritecolor no pressure:

@empty-pools-vacant-alleyways, @ghostopossumlives

thank you for the tag @lirenthenonlyrist <3

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multi-coloured lights

no pressure tags: @pretentiouswreckingball @ablique @doofranch @callmesel @friendofthefrogswastaken :)

I told you my deathbed secrets. Cause nobody else’s ever made me feel so alive. I love you.

–s.s.

WWWY

On my way to When We Were Young fest. I can’t wait to scream along to the songs that honestly saved my life when I was at my lowest. Music has always been there for me when shit got tough. 

A picture from my flight. There’s so many clouds in the sky. The view is beautiful in an ethereal sort of way. I want to jump from the plane and fall further and further through the clouds. I want them to become tangible, to hold and cradle me, to lift my head up and make me feel at peace. Make me feel alive. 

Taking off, as I watched the city become smaller and smaller, I had a strange sense of nostalgia. I remember the first time I overcame my fear of flying. I was a small child and the thought of being thousands of feet in the air terrified me. But when I finally allowed myself to get on a plane, I was struck by how beautifully insignificant the world seems when you’re drifting through the clouds. When your feet are no longer on the ground and your whole body feels like it’s floating. That’s when the reality of life is the most vivid. When thoughts are the most constructed and careful. I love the view of life from the this vantage point. It’s amazing. 

The moutains of Las Vegas. I think they speak for themselves. I’m fuckin pumped for tomorrow. Really hope I can sleep tonight. 

The wind is as cold as my feet tonight.

Outside on thanksgiving, in my grandparents back yard. I’m almost half as tall as the tree that once towered over me. I’m more comfortable here than I am inside. I like being alone better sometimes, when my head isn’t too loud. And I am grateful for many things. For him. For my best friend/the only girl I’ve ever loved. For my cat. For the cool windy air. For stolen, secret lunch-break kisses, and flirting with people I’ll never have. that the band that’s always been a part of me, might now actually work out someday. For my cousin. For the bands on the radio that got me this far. That I can express how I feel, even if it’s only in what I write. For all my friends, the people I know I can count on. That he’s still alive. I think the thing I’m most grateful for is that I’m still alive to experience the rare good things in my life. I held on long enough for that. And it would be a tragedy if I had died before finally being happy. Goodnight, I guess. (For once I think I mean that.)

‘‘Get Busy Living (In The Purgatory Of Your Real Life)’’

Once upon a time, I was a young boy. Born under a nighttime haze. With skin of stardust and tears like burning oil. A soul so bright nothing could damper it.

Now my soul is full of pallor. And my skin is grey. I have memories formed of the harshest sunlit days and the coldest moonshine nights. I could only grow into the threadbare skin they gave me.

~

I think back to nothing fond at all. These days the darkest parts of my brain are put together like a jigsaw puzzle filled with missing pieces and misplaced optimism. 

He is my only light. A boy just like me but infinitely more perfect. Beautiful, confident, sewn together with golden threads. Clean and pure. The antithesis of everything I've become.

‘’Get busy living’’, they tell me. But how am I supposed to live if he's not here to pave the trail ahead of me with his golden, elegant glow? You’d understand if you ever stood in the full glory of his love. Without him, it's not living, not really. It’s only a day-by-day slideshow, built to exist and li[v]e. 

~

I pale in comparison to all that he is. (He is the best part of me.) My blood is motor oil and my scars are rust. My features are burns against untainted, snow white flesh. I was made for the purpose of art, yet I have become what I always feared was the ugliest part of me. 

My soul is corrosive. It’s eating me from the inside out. Bones break and hearts shatter. But I’ll serve my broken body on a silver platter, in the hopes that he will take me as I am. That he will accept what little I have to offer.

~

He’s made me that boy again. The person I lost over the years. (Could I finally start to live?) The sky is full once more, lit up with the light of ten thousand galaxies. He is the man in the moon, watching over me even when he's not standing beside me.

~

My heart beats in time again. The stars align and I’m given back the matches that gave me that flicker to begin with. A small fire starts up in my ribcage, and I think that maybe I’ll have a bright light leading my way once again. Something to keep me warm and to give my soul back its glow. Stardust skin and the feeling that I’ll never be alone

It’s not “americans” okay? There are some of us who are fucking devastated by this. I’m gay, and I have friends who are too. Some of the most important people in the world to me are Hispanic, female, and/or transgender. And I’m fucking terrified for them. I’m terrified for myself. So everyone saying “americans” suck and that they’re disgusted can go fuck themselves, cause I’m disgusted too. If you think people like me chose this, this is the last thing any of us wanted. And I have to go to school today and be surrounded by people who hate queer people and I have to hold it together. Cause I shouldn’t show emotion cause that’s “feminine” and “weak” and I’m already fucking gay so why would I add to that? There’s a pit in my stomach. And the way this works is I’m queer first, an American second, cause that’s what I’ll be given shit for. That’s what’ll matter when it comes down to it. Being american won’t protect me when they decide coming after trans people isn’t enough, that the whole LGBT community is a “problem”. The worst part is I had hope. I don’t know why, but I thought that maybe it wouldn’t turn out like this, and now I’m fucking heartbroken. 

Untitled

The worst part is I don't even have her face, I have his. I wish I had the kindness of her eyes. Instead, every day I wake up and the mirror is just another reminder of him. His brown eyes, his sharp angled face, and his spirit. His hands, his feet. His anger. His rage. It's all mine. All of it. Sometimes it makes me hate myself. Everyone thinks I'm his carbon copy. "Just like his father," they say. Well they don't know how much it hurts me. They don't know what he really was. They don't know the pain and bruises I carry around because of him to this day. Nobody lived the life me and my mom did. They saw the best side of him. We suffered through the worst. I can honestly say I'm glad he's gone now. And all I want is to erase his face. It was all him. And he was the sum of it all—he was the only mistake my mother made.