Unquestionably yours. I am a book; read me until my pages are flayed, my corners are soft and worn, and I smell like the spices in your kitchen. I don't want to come out of this unscathed -- I hardly hope to embark on an easy journey, and my scars have always told the best stories, hidden the greatest triumphs. Tell my story again and again and again. That's the only way I want to be remembered.

I'm not afraid of adversity. I'd smash my heart on a rock if it would make for some good writing.

"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions."
- Augusten Burroughs

My writing is split into categories below. If you want to read them uncategorized, they're all available under the writing tag. Enjoy!

 READER(S)

 

hello friends!

by now this announcement might start to make me sound like a broken record, but I plan on taking another planned hiatus. I think I’m better prepared this time, so I won’t have to worry about coming back and writing a bunch of sad-sack posts about how ghastly I’ve gotten.

all things aside, I hope when I come back I have lots of new writing. I’m really looking forward to refreshing my words. I’m going to try and read books more often (college has left me with so little time for my lax way of doing whatever I want) so hopefully I have something worth sharing when I come back, whenever that may be. see you soon!

Anonymous asked
Hi Kristina! I'm a relatively new writer on tumblr and I'm struggling with getting my work, you know, *out there.* Do you have any tips or suggestions to help me share my writing with more people? (: Thank youu

fleurishes:

Hi, baby. I can’t promise that I’m a total know-it-all when it comes to getting recognized by the sheer awesomeness that is the Tumblr writing community but hopefully these things will help get you on your way!

  • Tag your work. The tagging system is actually a really fabulous thing these days on Tumblr and you’d be surprised at how many people check the writing tags religiously either as inspiration for their own work or to see what kind of work a lot of the “lesser known” writers are putting out. Use the “poetry”, “spilled ink”, “writing”, “prose” and “lit” tags for the work that falls under each. 
  • Message the more prominent writers. Even if it’s just a “hello” or a “what’s up” or an actual question you may have pertaining to their writing, introduce yourself. Get your name out there. I can’t promise that they’ll always reply to your inquiries or general friendliness, but nine times out of ten they’ll probably recognize your username somewhere down the line and, if your work is good, may even follow you. This is mainly how I got the bulk of my followers—from those that had quite a larger audience than I did and promoted me because they genuinely liked my work and liked me. 
  • Be patient. I know it seems frustrating to garner only a few notes here and there on things that you’ve worked extremely hard on, but I promise, the readers will come. Give it time. 
  • Look into getting your work published at places other than Tumblr. Google online literary magazines and check out my post here where I suggest some of my favorites. It’s good for people to know that your work can translate from a blogging platform to an actual esteemed lit journal.
  • Be open about receiving criticism, but know the difference between people just being mean and constructive critique.
  • Be polite to those that begin to message you once your blog starts gaining attention + followers. Seriously. I cannot stress this enough. Mostly everyone is really great and kind and encouraging so this shouldn’t really be a problem, but just be polite. Be kind. Everyone on this website has started with 0 followers, so remember that. Remember your beginnings. I am always aware that I wouldn’t be where I am right now without my beautiful followers and I am so thankful for every last one of them. 
  • People will know if you’re truly passionate or if you’re just doing it for the notes. It’s probably a good thing, so don’t do this if you’re not being genuine about it. Trust me. 
  • Lastly, don’t take yourself so seriously. We’re all pretty laid back around here and everyone is pretty much on the list of people you need to talk to before Tumblr becomes the new Myspace. Write because you want to. If you ever feel like you’re writing for the people who click the little “follow” button on your blog, it’s okay to step back and take a break for a little while. 

But really. Come on in. The water’s fine! xoxox

I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons.

Christopher Poindexter

3:50 AM; 1/8/14

He dips his little hands into mine and feels the roughness that age has left on my skin. I can practically hear the thoughts in his head.

"Ask," I say, "go ahead." He gives me that look, the one that questions how I knew he was brewing. My lips curve a little bit. We swayed back and forth on the hammock for a while before he spoke, the breeze kissing our faces from underneath the shade. 

"Do you think anything lasts forever?" he asks, after long thought. "Your hands used to be so soft. You changed so much in so little time. I keep trying to think of things that can last, and all I can think of is love. But I don’t think you think that lasts forever either. Do you?" I let out a long breath, and for a moment wished I had a little brother who ate bugs or played in dirt or watched too much television. Instead, he reads books and asks me questions like do dogs miss their family or what would have happened if the dinosaurs didn’t go extinct.

I think forever is a tricky word.” He turns, and the hammock shifts under the weight. “Things don’t last the way we think they do. The stuff we’re made of always goes back to where it came from sooner or later, but it never ends. I guess that way everything is permanent. It never goes away.

"But things that we create — things like love —  these things only exist in our heads. Our thoughts. And thoughts are so fragile. Didn’t you grow out of your stuffed animals?"

"It can’t be the same way for people, can it?"

"Well, why not?"

"Because, people are different. People think. You share those feelings.”

"Maybe," I sigh. "Or maybe we build love up to be something like magic.

"I mean, think about it. You meet one person, and you’re expected to be able to marry them, and have kids with them, and never get sick of them and grow and grow and grow into better people every day you’re together. And it’s supposed to work, every day. And this bond, this powerful bond, is supposed to last even after both of you have passed into the dirt.

"But people fuck up so much. How can we trust perfect things like a true love if kids die before they hit puberty? Do those kids not have a true lover somewhere in this world, or is that lover just basically fucked, destined to never love to their full capacity? I think the problem with love is that we think it’s a special emotion. That somehow it braves the test of time, and because it’s eternal, it’s the strongest force in this world. And I don’t disagree, it’s powerful. But it’s not omnipotent. It’s not weatherproof. Why should it have to be? Why do good things have to last forever? Can you imagine, if you could have chocolate milk, every second of your life? You know how much you love it."

"People aren’t chocolate milk," he says.

"Yes," I say back, "people are much harder to love. People change, and sometimes they change in ways we can’t follow. It’s not so simple as wanting something to happen and having it happen. What if one day, you get into a car crash? What if I’m rocketed fifty years into the future, where no one I know exists anymore?

Eternity sounds beautiful. Like capturing one moment and replaying that moment over and over. But the beauty of that moment is in that it happened once, out of all the other moments you had. You, being born. You, speaking your first word. You, taking your first steps. These things,” I say, tapping his forehead, “exist in your brain because they are extraordinary. They are unique. Because they only happened once. Every moment happens only once.

When we say something has to last forever to truly live out its worth, we undermine how powerful time really makes them. In the time your lover comes and goes, you could have experienced so many other things. But instead, you felt something. A cord of connection, tying you to another human being. Something you’ll remember. And even if you do move on in life, you will always have that connection in the past. That moment to live by.

The beauty of things is not in how long they last, but in that they come at all, that fate saw fit to lay so specific a turn of events into your life. Permanent? Why does it have to be? You were a certain person at that point in your life. You are not stagnant or stationary, you are fluid. You move. So love should, too. Don’t you think?”

"Yes. I think so."

I have reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action’; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" (via zuky)

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to scream and punch things.
Do it.
Let out every ounce of anger you have.
Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb.
Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet.
Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you.
Throw your hairbrush at the wall.
Do it twelve times.
Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to want to hurt yourself.
Don’t you dare do it.
Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little.
Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M.
Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace.
Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror.
Say it twelve times.
Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.

You’re going to be sad.
You’re going to get through it.

things i wish i could make you understand (via fvckem)

(Source: pessimistiic)