In my sleep, I cry
My existence will melt
Before these lines are ever read.
These hands are
Sad and unsure and immobile.
They produce Xerox poetry
From a barely functioning woman.
I am so, so, so tired of
Kind of dreams.
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You’ll be seeing more from me soon though.
Here’s the second edition of Longreads’ Best of WordPress! We’ve combed through the internet to put together a reading list of some of the best storytelling being published on WordPress. (You can find Vol. 1 here.)
As a reminder: If you read or publish a story on WordPress that’s over 1,500 words, share it with us: just tag it #longreads on Twitter, or use the longreads tag on WordPress.com.
On grieving after the loss of a parent at a young age:
My father died on November 14th, 1995, when I was 14. Every day since the day he died I am one day farther away from him than I was before. This is the truest thing about me. It is the most important and worst thing to ever happen to me. It is me. My father died when I…
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Bunch of thought-provoking articles here (although some better written than others).
Here’s the first official edition of Longreads’ Best of WordPress! We’ve scoured 22% of the internet to create a reading list of great storytelling — from publishers you already know and love, to some that you may be discovering for the first time.
We’ll be doing more of these reading lists in the weeks and months to come. If you read or publish a story on WordPress that’s over 1,500 words, share it with us: just tag it #longreads on Twitter, or use the longreads tag on WordPress.com.
How the owners of world-class restaurants including Alinea created their own custom ticketing system:
Though I hadn’t the faintest idea how we would sell tickets, Grant and I included the line: “Tickets, yes tickets, go on sale soon…” in the announcement ‘trailer’ for Next. That was meant to do three things: 1) gauge…
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I come home, itching, sniffling, and beating away insecurities:
The aftermath of a night out with my friends.
Every time I get home, the more I think that my plan to have a fantastic summer is backfiring and instead of having a fantastic summer, I will just discover – more “fantastically” each time – just how second-rate I am compared to nearly everyone else in my group of friends.
As I age, I am becoming more aware of how others view me, despite their willingness to admit their feelings. However, I am still too young to not care and just settle, as the rest of my family has.
I am different from much of my family, but there are some ways that we sustain similarities. There’s enough similarities and differences present for me to wonder how will I treat my feelings as an adult. Will I learn to view them as irrelevant when they regard other people who are not my significant other or best friend? Will I settle for being the placeholder for better, brighter things? Or will I break the pattern and come to see that my insecurities may be falsities?
Nonetheless, I’ve grown up around some lonely-as-hell people and as I grow, I don’t see my destiny being much different. Regardless of much I try to be social, try to be more involved, try to force myself in the picture, the result remains the same: some part of me is unworthy, some part of me doesn’t click right, some part doesn’t request or demand attachment. I am just a fleshy part of scenery.
After years of locking myself away from social interaction with those I thought I was the closest to, I step into the world to find . . . I should have kept locking myself away. A scarce commodity is always more valued.
Don’t stop talking.
Let me hear the echo of your voice
Resonating against the chambers of my head.
Don’t stop talking.
Maybe I’ll still hear you when I’m
Don’t stop talking,
But don’t you touch me.
Don’t you grab my shoulders.
Let me hear you
Before I crack against the mountain side.
So don’t stop talking.
Don’t stop. Read the rest of this entry »