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Photo reblogged from ~{ Trelvix }~ with 36 notes
I wrote a poem about hockey when I was eleven:
“Hockey good. Fuckers.”
We had to have a conference about that poem. Mrs. Wehrle was kind of a bitch.
My mom laughed on the way home. “Why did you capitalize ‘Fuckers?’”
My dad told a story.
When he was a boy they’d asked him to illustrate the differences between poetry and prose.
“She winked at me. Imagine my luck. I’d come to kiss and she’d come to … You want the poetry or the prose?”
He probably made that story up.
——-
Phone safari #135.
NYC
{…via trelvix-a-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures…}
Glorious.
It is a parents duty to ensure the child is squirming.
I am quite certain Trelvix’s posts shall guide me through the teenage years properly.
Source: trelvix
child is squirming. I am quite certain Trelvix’s posts shall guide me...the teenage years...