Popular Posts

  • words for him
    It's 12:13AM and I don't know how to speak anymore. I make my wishes at 11:12 because the rush has died down and maybe God can ...
  • valentine's day
    If Valentine's Day means a flowerless lunch period swarmed by matchy sweaters and soft-haired girls with their slender hands in the cho...
  • The hallway is alright.
    My name was always 'Addison' but that one boy called me 'Addigail'  and I still see him write it on the folds of faded bl...
  • 17: the eulogy I never wrote
    I think we all fell in love with being 17. We all fell for clear eyes and t-shirts bundled by cotton socks We shared lotion in ti...
  • you will never read this.
    You will never read this. You will never read this, or see this, or smell this, or run your underage hands along this. You wi...
  • Bricks I Stole
    (I am a pile of bricks) One brick for my space heater. Another brick for that fleck of gold in my left eye which is just genetics m...
  • real talk:
    My name is still Addison. And if you knew me, you'd know I prefer it to the shortened version, but I don't care because that so...
  • le début
    I am not Jackie Onassis. An American flag topped with brown hair and more class than a bottle of 1850s Merlot. I'm not as flawlessl...
  • unplugged soul
    I showed him my blog if he promised never to speak of it again.  He said, "I'll never say a word about it. Promise." ...
  • breaking spring
    It's 3:03am and you forgot to console me, but I reread the letter you wrote and now I know. I forgot to love it the first time. W...
Showing posts with label Morning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Morning. Show all posts

heartaches and earthquakes.

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tonight I almost wrote the words "I'm done" across your screen. tonight I almost took hold of my time and walked away fro...
Posted by : Addison
3 Comments
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bedroom eyes

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He's playing with my fears. He's got hands full of money, paying taxes on his compliments, and charging 100% of my interest...
Posted by : Addison
1 Comments
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10 o'clock in Apopka

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- Malcolm Carter
Posted by : Addison
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tragedy, I can't explain it.

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you want words to matter. you want veins to be open to nothing but new suggestions and scissors to be softer than hands but the wor...
Posted by : Addison
7 Comments
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do you?

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do you remember the little mexican joint off Main Street?  40 minutes past curfew, when you turned March into summer  and the secrets w...
Posted by : Addison
4 Comments
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sunday

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I'm like monday morning's late breakfast,  with the forgotten aftertaste of sunday's calm on your mouth still and a yearnin...
Posted by : Addison
1 Comments
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wakeup calls

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We wake up like new bodies, with eyes that have washed out yesterday's adventures and a longing to replay every good moment that fo...
Posted by : Addison
3 Comments
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