Plath & Images

Starting at SU. Ending in NYC.
I wanna write books that make people want to write books

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You were so mean
I loved you
I took you apart
Like a slow drive
If I held the wheel
You had the petal
We were good at it
I haven’t thought of you
In a while
There have been others
When I see you in them
I pull the plug
They take it much worse
Than you did
You at least knew when
To say when
I must explain myself
The way I never
Could then
I don’t know who could be
The fit for you
But I’d like to think she’s
So you’d never have to
Compare her to me

— Brittany Leitner

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By Brittany Leitner

I woke up feeling like Christmas
Or rather, like I was
Just given something
I was really going to enjoy playing with.

Yes, I was the kind of kid who had Christmas
But only enough to remember once or twice,
So you can’t really throw me in
Like that with all of the others.

It’s not about Christmas.
Christ it’s about being lucky enough
To find something you want to use
More than once.

All of your hair was there
Near mine when I woke up
You felt like something I
Would really make up

If I could decide what I wanted
To drag down the street
On my very own arm
If I had my very own choice.

I will end you here for now
Because who wants to know
What happened next?
The good part already got them

And it got me.
So I won’t tell how I made you leave
Or how I left first
Won’t tell

We’re leaving it all here
Just like that
The way I woke up to things

All those Christmases ago.

When I actually became poor I hated myself for all the times I thought of myself as poor. You’re not poor if you can go into the store and buy coffee, telling yourself you need it.

"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot".

"We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot".

(Source: arikaftermath, via wta19)

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The Thirty Somethings

By Brittany Leitner

My love,
When did we grow old enough to marry?
You did it without me.

She’s real, is she?
She has a head, you say?
She has everything.

Gathered in the presence of God
I turn to Him and say,
There, there matchmaker. Is it you
who doesn’t know what He’s doing after all?

Hold your peace! He shouts back,
You’re reminding me why
You weren’t good for him in the first place.

All my love
Sits with me in silence.

My love,
Do you remember sitting next to me on these pews?
Meeting on Sundays, praying hard, thinking about each other

I was sixteen when you eased me behind the wheel of your car,
giving me permission to go.
There was nothing like that freedom –
speeding without the fear of crashing,

I didn’t know what to do with that kind of love,
so I took too much, and then I crashed it.
You shouldn’t hand out love at sixteen

I go on and forget I had it.
At thirty, now, you’re thirty-two,
I’m hearing you say it;
“I do.”
“I do.”
You shouldn’t hand out love at sixteen.

Before I began, I was already through.

Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough.
Stephen King (via viviwithcurls)

(via authorsarahdessen)

I am not bad although I am wicked
perhaps, and not too rare. Beat, yes, liquored
to exhaustion, dead tired in the sheets, still sings
Frank O’Hara, “Poem”
Donuts strike a chord with people. Visitors to the Museum of Donuts often share their donut stories without hesitation: memories of going to get donuts with their dad before or after church, midnight runs to the donuts shop as teenagers, working at a donut shop and even living next door to the donut guy. The fact that donuts seem to connect people was completely unexpected and sweet.

(Source: flamelikeme)

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I often saw my father slip back into normal
just as easily as he left it
At home he screamed at the TV
But when I took him to a basketball game
He clapped like a real human being.

He was always in there, I guess
But wasn’t able to get out on his own
And that’s the way his life ended
Locked in, plastic tubes fishing
Down his throat

And I wasn’t grossed out
When I wiped his drool away
Because he was my dad
And that may have been the first
Day I ever owned him as mine.

When someone dies you can
Make them your own
And that’s the best thing about death
I guess he was always in there, in me

But now I can keep him how I need him.

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Training Period by Brittany Leitner

We are in a training period
Well, I am
But it’s still all about you.
I heard once you can learn anything
So I sat down and prayed
And said, I’m ready for something
We cannot undo
I think I must make myself
Be happy; a skill
It will
Mean more that way
And skills, I’m told,
will grow
And show
Like smooth skin,
On your dream leg.
You’d pull parts and
Make me if you could
But I’m all sorts of parts already:
Nothing will happen to my arm
No matter how hard
You go at it
My right eye bleeds in night
But I can make it look like
Something else if I blink at you -
It’s just a pretty red
And I learned that already
My progressive, learning, period
What I really am
A girl,
Lying down
Bleeding ugly reds.