I no longer need you to fuck me as hard
as I hate myself.

Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized

that the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.

We Were Emergencies by Buddy Wakefield (via trashydyke)

(Source: cartouche-dreams)

Woman in gray (2’x3’ acrylic on canvas) (Taken with instagram)

Boom (16”x24” charcoal on paper) (Taken with instagram)

Tick Tock, 2012
charcoal, graphite, and ink, layered on paper, mounted on wood
18 x 8 in.

This is NOT my poetry. Just my response to it. One of my favorites of his.

To read more of his work, follow him:


Lunacy: when you drastically alter yourself and expect people to cater to your whims without feeling hurt or confusion or feeling they won’t/don’t fit in any longer.

Early morning… Where’s my coffee?

Brownie mix :) (Taken with instagram)

Old school (Taken with instagram)