I’d put it on iTunes and Spotify and Amazon mp3 and all of that, theoretically.
so that leaves me with two questions:
and
2. what poems would you most want to hear?
The Perfect Amount of Insane
this video has more views than any other poem I’ve written. this one is my favorite, too:]
(Source: aspirationsmeetinspiration)
onasearchforhappiness asked: Hey, so I came across your blog, and I love this. Your writing is incredibly inspirational. I love your detail and use of poetry; it's all simply beautiful and breath taking. I could read your work for hours. Just thought you should know... <3
Thank you so incredibly much:]
For years, if you’d hand me a string while I was talking, I’d look down to see that my fingers had crafted a noose just their size, and I spent long enough on the dark side to forget that light existed… believe me, I’ve been there. I know what it feels like when you see a cliff and the first thing you think is “jump,” when you want to look yourself in the eye but every mirror shows you a face you’re afraid of and you can’t remember the last time a kiss felt like anything more than a bandaid made of questionable intentions, or anything less than a back room last chance at feeling a feeling that drained from your guts before you knew how to get back up… believe me. I’ve been there. But somehow I made it back.
(via ashleywylde)
I guess I can’t say why I get so sentimental in the middle of the night, like the stars drip romance and the glint of the moonlight on my windowsill is a glimpse of the future we’ll conquer. No matter what, my windowsill is too far away from yours, and I’d like to be the dreamcatcher on your wall because you couldn’t fathom how beautiful your raw mind is to me and if I could hold on to your buoyant dreams I know I’d be able to fly; forget about wings. I’d even swallow your nightmares like a gift because I’d be happy to be the one worthy of taking away your fears. I hope you’re dreaming about the moon. Don’t ever forget that your dreams aren’t too big, and whenever the sun sets, I’ll be coming home to you again, someday. Until then I’ll tuck love notes behind your ear as I brush away your hair and never fail to remind you that my kisses are promises, and we crossed our hearts a long time ago.
You know I’ve said you were a writer. You don’t always know what to say, and sometimes you trip over your words, but the language of your fingertips tracing my lips is more holy than anything that could ever come out of my pen, and I want to be trapped in your fish bowl heart as long as I can hold my breath, and I can’t tell you how long it will be quite exactly but I can tell you that the finale is my death, so keep me breathing. Just keep your hand in mine and I won’t ever stop fighting; your existence writes me alive… so please promise me you’ll never stop writing.
nikkilikestwat asked: Your "Highlights of a Suicide Note" is pure genius.
thank you so much:]
Infinity - Ashley Wylde
When I was in kindergarten, my teacher was plump and smelled like honey and she gave me spelling tests during naptime because I already knew how to read and I could have probably done the spelling in my sleep anyways, but she saw a seed where public education saw a class-size limit and they didn’t give her any extra water but she gave me what she could anyways. She asked me my favorite number and I told her, “five, because that’s how old I am,” and she smiled and put five smiley face stickers on my forehead and I wore them like holy water.
I sat next to Peter Ducey in third grade and everyone thought he was the smartest boy in class because he knew how to spell genes, and not just the kind you wore on your legs. We played a flash card game where you race the person next to you and whoever wins moves on and on around the class until they lose and I would lose on purpose the first time, so that I could write down every single answer and the next time the cards came around, I was unstoppable. Times tables were boring but even the teacher never found out about my trick and I felt like I was a magician. My teacher asked me my favorite number and I said, “all of them,” and she gave me take home math problems and I drew pictures of seals on the back after I finished them on the bus ride home.
Nobody liked me in fourth grade because I moved schools and they were all friends before I got there but there were so many books and so much time to read them and I learned about Algebra because this was the gifted and talented class and during the Invention Convention I made a machine that poured milk for old people who had osteoporosis. Ms. Ashworth asked me what was my favorite number and I said, “zero,” and she said, “Ashley, zero is not a number, it’s a concept” and I said “numbers are a concept.”
I finished pre-calculus in sixth grade and took Algebra I all over again in seventh because public education makes no room for trees when it fails to recognize the seeds and all my friends and I wrote notes to each other and took naps because we could have been doing Algebra I in our sleep. My teacher asked me my favorite number and I told her, “n” and she told me “n is not a number, it’s a variable” and I said “if you do not know that I am standing behind a door, am I still an animal?”
I think I really stopped trying when work was aimed at time consumption over value and my grades said more about my teacher’s ability to engage than my ability to comprehend and when numbers felt like sand paper unless I was painting them on something more beautiful than an activity log. I found art, lost myself in between the lines, music stole my heart and I met a stage for the first time like we’d never have to part.
College was never a question for a kid like me, said my counselors. “If you don’t go to college, what a waste.” I went, and I walked myself from class to class, sat in lecture halls where I was a pinpoint star in the constellation of faces, listened to the information… I took tests and took tests until I realized that learning does not have to be unrest. Whoever told you that a textbook is the only way to learn forgot that you can take more from a sunburn than an equation, if you’re looking.
All I want is to leave and never stop leaving, I want the earth to be my teacher and when she asks me my favorite number I will say, “infinity,” and she will not tell me that infinity is not a number because there is more wisdom in silence. I’ll never stop spinning or learning because the dirt on a distant land has more worth than machine printed numbers on a page and the only obligation you’ve never questioned and I never needed college to be successful like I never needed anyone to tell me I could find my own my way and I’m finding it. In my heart, I know I’m finding it.
