my bitter sweet 16 it up


So like hey, you’re more than welcome to fuck up my feelings. It’s already a huge mess, what’s another spill? Just make sure you’re down to water the dying voices inside of me, don’t worry– It’s just me, a prisoner inside of my own head. Make yourself at home with my self-torment. Plant your doubt so far into my screams, maybe I’ll start growing a new heart, a red one, a beating one. Charm me with your flaws. Chase these ghosts out of me, an abandoned symphony– bitter of my sweet, won’t love love me like life needs death to be ugly…? So like hey, you’re more than welcome to fuck up my feelings. Just make sure you make my bed on your way out of the door. Just make sure you fluff my pillows and leave notes that’ll mess me up a week from now. Just make sure you take my heart somewhere it’s never been. As a writer, I’ve left my blood inside the inkwell. As a poet, I’ve left my starry night inside each feathery bone of the quill. As a lover, I’m just another

– hey.

what to do with a bitter brew

bitter brew from a bitter land
stretched taut like a rubberband

threatening a snapback
when they say you’re black, jack -

away with thee.

cast a heartfelt wish
upon a star,
the star turned to me & said:

develop the art
of harboring your own dreams,
waking epiphanies;

night grows weary
from all the longing people
who look up, at, gaze upon -
everywhere but within.

that truth slapped me with a jolt
made me sit bolt upright
so i thanked the night
& the sage stars it envelops.

thus armed
with the impart of darkness
& its cohorts

i now stretch my skin,
develop a ritualized call & response - within,

providing succor & wherewithal
not to heed, nor flinch,
nor lessen my resolve one inch

savoring a sweet, sussurant self-serenade
taming the would-be bitterness

of dank, dark brew
better left to stew by itself  

amidst the dusty mites on an untended shelf.
6/16 - lebuc - what to do with a bitter brew

Rewatching Gilmore Girls and feeling bitter that this Rory has the worlds fastest metabolism, everyone loves her even though she’s a pain in the ass AND she has tons of sweet nice boys lining up to date her and when I was 16 I was a self loathing tank with bad skin and ill fitting jeans

not much has changed except now I put bourbon in my coffee in the morning


February is the shortest month, but the bitter chill makes it feel the longest. The smart ones, like me, escape to more tropical climates. While some of my Upper East Side friends use the time to hunker down and finish their work. Others snuggle up in bed with their agendas to keep them warm. And then there are the homes that feel even colder inside than it is out. 

-XoXo Gossip Girl