The only words running through my mind right now are fuck. you.  

Fuck the way that you treated me.  After 3 years of me being there and you thinking that you were being there, of me being the ping pong ball in your life size game of table-tennis, fuck you. 

Fuck your cavalier attitude.  Fuck you assuming I wanted anything more than a conversation.  Fuck you for telling me I didn’t even have that right.   

I haven’t written in over a year.  Fuck you for that too.  I am always saving my most beautiful words for you because I know that only you will read them and hear me through them…and I know that you’ll hear you through them too.  But I stopped watering those words because you stopped waiting to watch them grow.  

You left.  And so I left.  

And now everything I had is dried up and that is why these words are coming out so rugged and dead.  I don’t have anything beautiful in my soul anymore.

 Fuck the fact that I need you to be listening for me to feel like I have anything wonderful to say.  I told you not to change my life.  There is proof of that right on this very page.  I warned you of how you would mar me.  But there you were, changing my life, telling me I could be the kind of person who changes people too.  And then you left.  But you didn’t just leave, you disappeared.  You erased me.  Like you always do.   

The saddest part of this all, is that that day, the day you rejected, spat on, denied everything we ever were, I was going to say thank you.  Thank you for changing my life.  Thank you for making me feel wonderful.  Thank you for being someone who makes others feel so alive and so incredible about themselves.  I wanted to tell you that the world needs more people like you.  I wanted to tell you thank you for understanding me, for being perhaps the only person who understood me in those 3 years.  Our lives crossed for one fleeting, magical, gut-wrenching moment and that day, I wanted to tell you that I look back on it all and I smile because a lot of who I am today is because of you.

You didn’t give me that chance.  

So for now? 

For now…

fuck you.

"This is an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took me to let things go.
It was not my intention to make such a
production of the emptiness between us
playing tuba on the tombstone of a soprano
to try and keep some dead singer’s perspective alive.
It’s just that I coulda swore you had sung me a love song back there
and that you meant it

Buddy Wakefield

5500 people have listened to this sound come out of my face. woah. 

"I know what it’s like for your body to go so many places
that your heart forgets to catch up every time your feet go somewhere new."

amplified stillness (start again)

i choose to end the compulsive habit of thinking and
speaking insecurities. these are not my insecurities. they
were habitual thoughts passed down to me. the
foundation i’ve lain for myself is noble and true of heart
and must be treated as such, with compassion and clarity.

i choose to be quiet and let forthcoming answers reveal
themselves without manipulation. the hyper
intellectualization, wordiness, passion and superlatives
(which have often driven the engine in my ego) serve to
fuel distortions of a happy life, or burn up happiness
altogether. i choose to not put another log on that fire.

i choose patience under pressure.

i choose to stay present, to unlearn how to unlove,
to love, and to practice my worthiness of it.

i choose equanimity.

i breathe deep into the center of my heart.

i surround myself with friends and professionals
achieving like-minded success.

i am led to consistently speak with good purpose, react as
a gentleman, not instigating or projecting any foul thing,
and to not internalize the negativity of others so that my
presence is constantly powered by goodwill and grace.
lead me to right choices and right action, not to
participate in any lies about love, and to leave helpful 
writing on the wall so that i might pull the next one up.
lead me to pull the next one up with real peace in my
spirit, humor in my peace, and this spinal cord i bummed
off a cephalopod. jus’ kiddin’, cephalopods don’t have
spinal cords. they are bilaterally symmetrical though, and
they collectively possess nearly every super power known
to man, including shape-shifting, pseudo-morphing and
possible teleportation.

i choose to savor this moment.
i choose ending knee-jerk reactions to that which i deem
negative, including parking enforcement, cilantro and the
back-up beep on commercial vehicles. for that matter,

there is no need to knee-jerk-react to the positives either.
enjoying them is enough.

i choose an unassuming nature.

i choose to be held accountable.

thank you for the vast experiences with which this life has built me.
i am thankful for what is being built.
i know it to be a fine building.
it does not stand in vain
even when it’s riddled with mirrors.

thank you for the serenity prayer, and the courage to
follow through with right action, with listening, with
learning and with stillness.

i choose to release my hope for a better past, to discontinue
boasting past glories, and to not justify any poor choice
with having lived a hard life.

i choose to speak with kindness and acceptance, even to myself.

i choose to be unapologetic for healthy living.

i choose to be unapologetic for living.

i choose to politely ask myself to step aside if i am in my own way.
if i do not get out of my own way, i choose to call a friend
who will have me removed.

i choose to observe how i may best serve today, and then do so.
i choose to better understand service and to live less selfishly.
i choose the nature of giving not greed, stability not
desperation, safe passage as opposed to craving and

i witness gifts in the lives around me.
you really are incredible, ya know.
good gravy just look at ya.

i choose big me big you.

i choose chin up, best foot forward, stick my landings.

i choose a safe place to land.

i choose feeding myself joy over beating myself up.

i choose not to beat myself up if i trail off course, rather,
gently redirect my breath so that these standards i’ve
accepted for myself are not buried under any unnecessary
weight of any perceived shortcoming.

“i choose to not let come out of my mouth that which
would contradict the blessing that is happening in my
life.” – michael bernard beckwith

i’m giving myself a break. 
i choose to be enough. 
no more ten thousand hours of more more more. 
not by force. 
this work will not save me. 
i release me. 
go and have some fun. 
i’ve spent so much energy becoming better. 
i choose to now live with the better, to yield to the better, to
show you the better, and to let the rest unfold.
i will show up every day.
my failures have led to successes.
it is a time for practicing these successes, and for rest, and for clear reception.

i may make no decision based on panic.

lead me away from telling lies, exaggerating truths,
bragging, or manipulating people’s perceptions of me.
these are disservices to my practice.

i choose to breathe all known and forthcoming truths at
once, deeply and consistently, inhaling and exhaling
reassurance and understanding, joy and equanimity,
wonderment and revelation, acceptance and integrity,
commitment and flexibility, balance and ownership,
staying present with the moment, observing my
environment, yielding to all that is.

and when i do not do all of these things forever without
fail, may i be banished to an unforgiving lake of lava shit
for the devil’s fat eternity.

…or, treat myself to a good meal, some sound sleep, and
another deep breath.

…or, call mom, tell her what’s goin’ on, and agree with
anything she might say just to know that i have a mother.

i release my need to be right.

i know that this is the key to living life as is.
i choose as is.
let god be god.
and let me be still 
until thy will is revealed.

nothing is against me. 

-buddy wakefield


1. There will be several days that you daydream about stepping in front of a city bus. Don’t. It will not be beautiful. It will not be brave. It will be selfish. It will be broken. Your mother will cry.

2. Don’t write for him. Write for you. Write for others like you. Write so the girl that thinks about stepping in front of public transportation doesn’t. Don’t be selfish.

3. When you will yourself to sleep and it doesn’t come- get up. It doesn’t matter that it’s 3 am. There will be other 3 am’s. Take a shower. Take two. Wash him out of your hair. Write a poem. Read the same book you’ve read 202 times again. The 203rd time might tell you something different. Don’t stay in bed- you will think about the bus again.

4. Don’t kiss him because he’s broken. Don’t kiss him because his laughter never reaches his eyes. Don’t try and fix him. Fix yourself first. Be selfish. He can’t save you.

5. Date yourself. Take yourself out to eat. Don’t share your popcorn at the movies with anyone. Stroll around an art museum alone. Fall in love with canvases. Fall in love with yourself.

6. Dress up and wear red lipstick and get drunk with your friends. They’re the ones that will pick you up. Don’t kiss him. Or him. Don’t fall asleep on strange couches with strange boys. When his hand slides up your dress walk away. Hit him. Don’t kiss him. He can’t save you.

7. Get another tattoo. Get five more. Get another hole in your ear. Don’t listen to your dad. You will still be able to get a job. Did you really want to be employed by someone like your father? Haven’t you had enough of judgmental old white men anyway? Get fuck you tattooed in tiny letters on your hip.

8. When you feel the yearning for a new city- start over. Take 200 bucks and three suitcases. Work anywhere that will have you. Meet strange people and forget your name. Call yourself Ruby. No one will know the difference. Remember to call your mother. Don’t be selfish. Come home when you find yourself in the strangers and the small one bedroom apartment.

9. Don’t whisper evil things into your own ear. Other people are going to shout them at you. Be your own hero. Keep a sword on your key ring.

10. Don’t step in front of a city bus. It will not be beautiful. Live. Stay up all night with a boy that promises you everything and means it. Live. See shitty local bands with a friend. Wear a different band’s t-shirt. No one will care. Live. Have a baby girl with tiny fingers and tiny toes someday. Pour love into her until it’s overflowing. Live. Wake up. Staying in bed all day is not poetic.

Live. Live.


Do you hear that? It’s me. It’s your life. Wake up.


(via fassadenmensch)

(via jamie-xx)


Buddy Wakefield- Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars

-it’s just that I could have swore you had sung me a love song back there
and that you meant it
but I guess sometimes people just chew with their mouths open.

And again.  Sorry for all the cover spam…but not really.  

Like any normal person, I’m making lullaby-ish covers on a Friday night since I cannot sleep…  


…and posting it all over every social media site. 

We Were Emergencies

A poet
can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, Poets, let’s turn our wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
and repeat after me with your heart:
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 the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.
If my heart really broke every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now
but hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m havin’ a fantastic time.

-Buddy Wakefield