May 2013
1 post
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Hello friends!
i have published another ebook called “Indoor Voices”! it can be read here thank you for your time! I love you so much. x actualhobo
April 2013
3 posts
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strip me of my clothes
my anxieties
my pride
my sadness
tell me you love me.
when you have my heart clenched
between your
once-in-a-while smile,
tell me you still do.
tell me it never gets easier.
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i will never really find the wounds you left. I won’t go looking for them, anyway.
Because i know that the second i think it’s time to heal, you’ll be there again.
making me want to touch your hand. making me want to save you. making me want to keep you.
so when people stare at me and say, “with scars like that, who’s ever gonna love her?”
i’ll think...
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this is how to be a sixteen year old virgo:
1. get high with your taurian brother and over-analyze everything. Realize that while you’re articulating some of your troubles, he’s silent. Recognize that to your older brother, you are second best. Notice how he handcuffs himself to a bottle at night so he’ll stop thinking and go to sleep. Care more about everyone more than you do yourself.
2. Worry about a boy you used to love sleeping next...
March 2013
6 posts
8 tags
Your beauty is
askewed by what feels like the
biggest ocean in this world.
Distant in more than one sense of the word.
You shoot me with your one-word arrows
they go right through my chest.
Clean, cut, handsome.
And as I count the holes in me,
wishing you’d just touch them,
I find out where I belong.
Pat Benetar said once that Love
is a battlefield.
Maybe she forgot to also...
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i’ve been meaning to ask you all sorts of things.
things about lava lamps,
navigational skills, patience, ice cream.
mythology. museums. musicals.
i lay awake at night
wanting for you to be around to answer.
to hear me say, half-dreaming,
“i love you. i love you. i love you.
i think about you before i sleep.”
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all i want in this life
is to wake up in the middle of the night
to find myself wrapped around you—
my bruised kneecaps against
the perfect hinge of your legs,
my chest cradling the brick in the small of your back—
and make sleepy love.
i want to wake up in the midst of a blizzard,
4 a.m coming down,
and ask you (softly) if you are awake
and receive only kisses
as an answer.
i wrote...
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would you like to sleep here
i miss you
can you come to my house three months from now
and help me rearrange my furniture
so i dont get terrified of everything
i like the way you reject me all the time
i like when you ignore me
it confirms the preconceived notion i have
that i am not important
thank you for your time
sincerely,
your 3 a.m. friend
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i snap my hairtie against my wrist.
and stare at the redness.
this doesn’t mean a lot to me.
i like when my skin looks paper thin,
like i could rip it open
with a whisper.
i run my fingers over the red welts
and think, carefully
“I feel nothing.
the brain inside my skull could fall out
26 seconds from now
& it would feel like a million years ago.”
and when i scratch my...
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the back of my neck is a thorn
February 2013
4 posts
7 tags
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reason
petulanceparty:
i wanna lie on a trampoline in the summer with you this seems more romantic than most things there will be fireflies in the bushes and we will kiss a little and feel good about the bouncy surface beneath us i wasn’t feeling sad when i started writing this but now for some reason i am
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January 2013
34 posts
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i am smoking my last cigarette.
this depresses me.
what also depresses me is my whole life.
my sister is moving to madison in three weeks and i am scared shitless
because she makes me so happy
and she will still make me happy when she is gone
and i will write her letters
and skype with her when i’ve had a lot of beers
and text her when she’s drunk and laugh at how horrible her...
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1/28/2013
i think that when two ghosts fall in love, it just sounds like a whisper. i also am worried that if you were to cut me, maybe to see if my blood was sick, only sand would pour out. or maybe nothing at all. what kinds of things do glass girls keep in them? there is a boy in my algebra class and his name is Basil and he is very nice but i wish he drank because i want everyone to be as terrible as...
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when i am alone, i underline my scars with a red ballpoint pen. like ophelia, i am sallow with shame, regret this. regret this. i have climbed this willow tree of you, and fallen into the brook of our quiet wars below me. i am drowned in attrition. you may speak of me at my funeral, lay peonies and daisies on my grave, “sweets to the sweet” and after that, after all that...
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i sat at the foot of my bed for ~20 minutes i put my hands in my mouth i touched my gums and my teeth and i touched my tongue sometimes i do that because i like the sound and other times i do it because i need to know what teeth are i’m sorry for all the times on my porch i’m sorry i brought up other boys I’m sorry i talked about outerspace all the time i hope you lay in your...
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Hello friends! I have published another book of poems, called “Haunted Hotel”. i wrote these all today, so it’s relatively short. It would be much appreciated if you read it, but if you do and it’s not your cup of tea, that’s okay as well! I love you! Your mom loves you! Puppies exist!
thank you for your time
-casey
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The Flaneur Interviews: Breakable Things: An... →
flaneurinterviews:
I first came across Casey Ashman’s writing while (what else?) surfing the “alt lit” tag on tumblr, and I was immediately struck with the fragility and emotional depth of her writing. Casey recently published an ebook, I Don’t Know if You Panic on the Phone, and she agreed to talk about it…
Just did an interview— how exciting! This feels so official!
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A Failed Attempt at Projecting My Adoration Into...
~thank you i am here i imagine us sitting in the laundry room without shirts on you laugh at me when i say “i don’t care about poems that aren’t about love” (even though i’m laughing as well, and not really serious about that statement) i imagine reaching out to touch your hair and say “boys are idiots” and in earnest, you’re an idiot. but so am i....
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i remember you stumbling into my room, inebriated to the point of bizarre courage. you stood by the door and stared at me, nodded a few times and whispered to yourself, “hmmm. Interesting.” i know how Ophelia felt. “o, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown”
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a consequence of crippling silence
i just saw a scary movie. i’m home alone now and every noise makes me jump a towel just fell off the rack and i screamed. so now i’m sitting at the kitchen table remembering you laying behind me, watching 8 Mile, and laughing at Eminem’s nose. i told you about all the things your lips reminded me of, like how when they moved all i heard was echoes. there are 1232 species of bats....
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i’m warming my hands with the steam from this tea. also thinking about acrobats and circuses, and this book i read once about water and elephants. elephants are really cool and big, i mean, how can you not fall over, you’re so gigantic. if i was ever that big, i feel like i’d try to tie my shoe or something and just topple right over. that’s a weird thought. i don’t...
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“I’m laughing into the anthill of you”
i am an ant
i have crawled into your bed
and i am so small
that you squish me,
and you never even
realize it.
you never think about
how heavy your shoulder is
when it’s crushing my tiny .0003g
body.
i am special because
i can swallow 8 pills at once.
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on the list of drugs i’ve done,
there is one at the bottom.
i wrote it all tiny-like,
so you have to squint to see it.
i finished writing the list,
and my mood ring was purple.
i have no fucking idea what that means.
i started to think about the part
in the Odyssey where Agamemnon
died, and how maybe i cried
and maybe i didn’t.
I mean, i had to think about it
really hard. so that lead...
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sexular:
here’s an ebook of some poems i wrote
‘happy shiny new’ (shannon ward)
Love this!! Brilliant read, very succinct and strangely poignant.
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Hello! I’ve finally gotten around to writing an ebook, it is called “I Don’t Know If You Panic on the Phone”
feel free 2 read it, idk. i love u, we all love u, please enjoy
xx
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11:47
it is thirteen minutes to midnight. i am thinking about beggars in madison or minneapolis, or anywhere, really. I am in my bed and I am sorry. i am thinking about the man who not only lost his job, but lost himself. I’m thinking that sometimes, your whole life blows up in your face, like a supernova. and for one blinding second, everything is beautiful and disastrous.
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3:26 a.m
rain always reminds me of you
“hello?”
“sorry i missed your call”
“yeah”
“go to sleep. you’re drunk.”
“dont call me anymore”
“okay”
“…”
“i love you too” sighs
(it’s 326 am. I dont love you too.)
chasekersey:
im shipping myself to you
usps doesnt like it
im on attempt 12
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the black-capped chickadee has 13 recognized vocalizations. i am laying in my bed wearing a dress i haven’t worn in months and months and months. i wore it this one time we went out together to the movies and i was beautiful for you but you didn’t notice because i do things very quietly. loving you was like throwing the contents of a salt shaker into a black hole.
December 2012
34 posts
8 tags
i would race up so many flights of stairs for you. i would love you on every flight of stairs until we are at the top:
breathless
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i am sitting at the kitchen table, painting my nails. i sometimes need to take a break from running into this wall between us because there are bruises up and down my side— black, and purple, blue— bruises in me i do not know how to find.
