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Wash your hands. Use soap.

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Monday, April 28, 2014. Teach me how to rhyme. This is for the band who can't agree on a name. The girls who sing to their hairbrushes about fame. The ballers who got no game. For the money treated all the same. Songs not on repeat.

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Wash your hands. Use soap. | postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com Reviews

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Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Monday, April 28, 2014. Teach me how to rhyme. This is for the band who can't agree on a name. The girls who sing to their hairbrushes about fame. The ballers who got no game. For the money treated all the same. Songs not on repeat.

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Wash your hands. Use soap. | postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com Reviews

https://postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Monday, April 28, 2014. Teach me how to rhyme. This is for the band who can't agree on a name. The girls who sing to their hairbrushes about fame. The ballers who got no game. For the money treated all the same. Songs not on repeat.

INTERNAL PAGES

postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com

1

Wash your hands. Use soap.: And God laughed.

http://www.postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com/2014/04/and-god-laughed.html

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Saturday, April 5, 2014. I say sorry again and again, but it's a word now rendered meaningless to my family due to the accompanying lack of results. And we shoot bb's at the moon to spite God and God laughs. God laughs at karma.

2

Wash your hands. Use soap.: I'm not at prom.

http://www.postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com/2014/04/im-not-at-prom.html

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Saturday, April 19, 2014. I'm not at prom. I'm as broken as your promises and the empty light filtering through the glass. I was the third from the left and they wouldn't stop laughing at my haircut. April 20, 2014 at 3:46 PM.

3

Wash your hands. Use soap.: The Alphabet (idea stolen from Alis Priddy)

http://www.postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-alphabet-idea-stolen-from-alis.html

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Friday, April 18, 2014. The Alphabet (idea stolen from Alis Priddy). Is for the abuse. You reported. A is for abuse gone unreported. And the fountain of youth. Every time your little sister called you " Bitch. And you believed her.

4

Wash your hands. Use soap.: So maybe I should start doing the prompts.

http://www.postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com/2014/04/so-maybe-i-should-start-doing-prompts.html

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Thursday, April 3, 2014. So maybe I should start doing the prompts. I wrote those nice poems. It's short and sweet. Sometimes I feel like I have to write these long posts in order to get my points across. And now I'm pregnant.".

5

Wash your hands. Use soap.: Teach me how to rhyme.

http://www.postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com/2014/04/teach-me-how-to-rhyme.html

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Monday, April 28, 2014. Teach me how to rhyme. This is for the band who can't agree on a name. The girls who sing to their hairbrushes about fame. The ballers who got no game. For the money treated all the same. Songs not on repeat.

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pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: October 2014

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2014_10_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Friday, October 31, 2014. I’m not who you think I am. I’m not fists and I’m not hands. I’m not broken houses. Or empty medicine cabinets. Or crumbling hip bones. I’m not cracked sidewalks or exposed tree roots. I’m not the vacant apartment. Not torn wallpaper or property damage. I’m not a police report. Man, I was loved. I am not a cigarette butt.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: July 2015

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015_07_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Saturday, July 11, 2015. My street has milk cartons for houses,. Paper-thin walls decomposing with every spoonful of sugar. Last night i heard her bed frame beat against the wall like fists. I notice all of my metaphors have violent undertones and i don't know what that says about me or the influence of the media. But i think about him sometimes.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: the trouble with weekday lovers

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-trouble-with-weekday-lovers.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Tuesday, February 24, 2015. The trouble with weekday lovers. Is that their reasons fade as the week does. So please, turn out the light behind you, turn the key mind you, i will be waiting for the start of your car to take my breath away. to make my beliefs sway. Because we all have nightmares until our grief subsides. View my complete profile.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: phillips avenue

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015/07/phillips-avenue.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Saturday, July 11, 2015. My street has milk cartons for houses,. Paper-thin walls decomposing with every spoonful of sugar. Last night i heard her bed frame beat against the wall like fists. I notice all of my metaphors have violent undertones and i don't know what that says about me or the influence of the media. But i think about him sometimes.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: December 2014

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Monday, December 1, 2014. My heart can't remember why she wakes up anymore,. Because every time she beats, she beats a dead horse. She decided she'd rather drown than be found cold in the ground. But the waves might teach her a thing about the beauty of consistency. My heart was so cold. I drew a bath to pull the warmth to its surface. And i've heard...

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: August 2014

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2014_08_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Sunday, August 31, 2014. Tara you missed a few (types of kisses). Break the spell kisses. Don't leave me kisses. Rip me apart kisses. Don't tell your mother kisses. Leave your shoes on kisses. Take your shoes off kisses. I want your $ kisses. Endure to the end kisses. Hood of your car kisses. Hood of their car kisses. Caught in the headlights kisses.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: we're all tired.

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015/04/were-all-tired.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Thursday, April 30, 2015. I'm tired of writing about blood as a metaphor for unseen pain. And I'm tired of fighting about whether Ed's voice is in my head or my legs. And yes, I'm wired to think of suicide, black or white, wrong or right every time the fit's too tight. Send me a muse. I'm sick of typing about my failed religion. And the ink's dried.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: November 2014

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2014_11_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Sunday, November 16, 2014. Today, someone told me that depression is not poetic. Eating disorders are not romantic. Self-harm is not artistic. And crying yourself to sleep is not sentimental. Bleeding on a page won't sew my heart back on my sleeve. The untouched food is not symbolic. And you can't eat enough pages of the bible to coat your stomach.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: titled untitled

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015/02/titled-untitled.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Wednesday, February 25, 2015. My lungs are on empty,. My heart beats alone. Head beneath the black water,. Sinking like a stone. I pull out pink hair and false teeth. A couple drinks accept me:. I lose the rings around your eyes,. God's the playlist of my cries. My ankles kiss and I'm poetic again,. My head bangs the wall and I'm depressed again.

pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com

What Happened When Our Lips Locked: February 2015

http://pleasefindmysummerblog.blogspot.com/2015_02_01_archive.html

What Happened When Our Lips Locked. All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living." -pleasefindthis. Wednesday, February 25, 2015. My lungs are on empty,. My heart beats alone. Head beneath the black water,. Sinking like a stone. I pull out pink hair and false teeth. A couple drinks accept me:. I lose the rings around your eyes,. God's the playlist of my cries. My ankles kiss and I'm poetic again,. My head bangs the wall and I'm depressed again.

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postitsfromthebackoftheclass.blogspot.com

Wash your hands. Use soap.

Wash your hands. Use soap. The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poem.” -Andrea Gibson. Monday, April 28, 2014. Teach me how to rhyme. This is for the band who can't agree on a name. The girls who sing to their hairbrushes about fame. The ballers who got no game. For the money treated all the same. Songs not on repeat.

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