I realize that I now make up a third of the comments on this video :) lol. Can you tell it's one of my favorite poems? But here are the words if anyone wants them, I think they're right I have been writing this letter to my one-day daughter and it starts out, "Dear Baby Girl, Good fucking luck, you see, this world is a sandcastle. It's beautiful and it's fragile and it's one big wave away from collapsing all around us so you hold tight to your shovel now; you'll find a way out. Don't blame the ocean, darling, she's just doing what makes sense to her. So many humans have hurled their wishes at her feet, left bottled messages on her shorelines, thrown ashes into her aching belly. You can't blame her for trying to wash it all away, trying to pull back from the tidelines, just a little bit cleaner, But you pick up your bucket now. You keep on building. Sex on the beach is much better as a cocktail than as a 3 AM life choice. Wearing uggs with skirts is always a bad life choice. If you have a reoccurring dream about making out with your constitutional law professor, do not tell him on Halloween. Don't let your friends talk you into dressing up as a sexy this or a slutty that. If you want to go as Falcore from the never-ending story, fucking fly, love dragon, fly. Don't ever let anyone tell you what to wear. But don't ever wear a skirt with uggs. Know that there is an exception to every rule, but more often than not you are not the exception. You won't be the one to make him change or the one to bring her back, but you pick up your bucket now. You keep on building, keep on reaching; become a balloon salesman so everyone you meet looks to the sky and smiles. You have so much life packed within your bones; don't worry if things get bumped around a little, you keep on building. 28 days before my 21st birthday, a doctor who looked remarkably like my father tells me I will never have a daughter. He starts talking about options, but it all comes out exit strategy. He makes a list of specialists, asks if there's anyone I can call. I walk behind the building, slam my hands into the wall. I want to carve a c-section scar into my belly just for the fuck of it just so my body won't always win this goddamn war against my choice. I have always lived behind enemy lines; I start buying milk a half-quart at a time. Everything has an expiration date; I start looking for mine. I wanna backspace out every single time someone asked me what I wanted to be and I answered anything other than alive... But that's a lie... I want to be a balloon salesman. I wanna know what it's like to let things go that easily. I fly home to California. Pass right through security, wonder why they didn't stop me. I guess they can't see; I am carrying death inside my body. I buy 21 balloons at the airport gift shop, let them go imagining the string wrapped around my throat a half second later. Think about this letter that I wrote to a girl with so much life packed within her bones, a girl who knows not to blame the ocean for a few unlucky breaks, a girl who knows how to build, knows to keep reaching and jump for the balloons. Buy a big ass cosco pack of milk because my body may well be a war zone, but I have never carried white flags in my back pocket. In my hands, I have a shovel and a bucket. I do not blame the ocean, but I will not stop rebuilding.”
This poem is so underrated! Gives me life everytime I go back to rewatch
so amazing........
I love the title “Cancer I thought I was A Gemini” 😭
I love her so much. She's like the fall out boy of slam.
Fall Out Boy and slam are my life, I think we should be best friends.
This is one of the best descriptions of her yet.
Holy hell, that was so beautiful and sad and I love the metaphor about the balloon salesman.
I love Brenna so much, she uses humor but still conveys important messages
Still one of my favourite poems ever. Keep coming back to it.
I realize that I now make up a third of the comments on this video :) lol. Can you tell it's one of my favorite poems? But here are the words if anyone wants them, I think they're right
I have been writing this letter to my one-day daughter and it starts out,
"Dear Baby Girl,
Good fucking luck, you see, this world is a sandcastle. It's beautiful and it's fragile and it's one big wave away from collapsing all around us so you hold tight to your shovel now; you'll find a way out.
Don't blame the ocean, darling, she's just doing what makes sense to her. So many humans have hurled their wishes at her feet, left bottled messages on her shorelines, thrown ashes into her aching belly. You can't blame her for trying to wash it all away, trying to pull back from the tidelines, just a little bit cleaner,
But you pick up your bucket now. You keep on building. Sex on the beach is much better as a cocktail than as a 3 AM life choice. Wearing uggs with skirts is always a bad life choice. If you have a reoccurring dream about making out with your constitutional law professor, do not tell him on Halloween. Don't let your friends talk you into dressing up as a sexy this or a slutty that. If you want to go as Falcore from the never-ending story, fucking fly, love dragon, fly. Don't ever let anyone tell you what to wear. But don't ever wear a skirt with uggs.
Know that there is an exception to every rule, but more often than not you are not the exception. You won't be the one to make him change or the one to bring her back, but you pick up your bucket now. You keep on building, keep on reaching; become a balloon salesman so everyone you meet looks to the sky and smiles. You have so much life packed within your bones; don't worry if things get bumped around a little, you keep on building.
28 days before my 21st birthday, a doctor who looked remarkably like my father tells me I will never have a daughter. He starts talking about options, but it all comes out exit strategy. He makes a list of specialists, asks if there's anyone I can call. I walk behind the building, slam my hands into the wall. I want to carve a c-section scar into my belly just for the fuck of it just so my body won't always win this goddamn war against my choice.
I have always lived behind enemy lines; I start buying milk a half-quart at a time. Everything has an expiration date; I start looking for mine. I wanna backspace out every single time someone asked me what I wanted to be and I answered anything other than alive... But that's a lie... I want to be a balloon salesman. I wanna know what it's like to let things go that easily.
I fly home to California. Pass right through security, wonder why they didn't stop me. I guess they can't see; I am carrying death inside my body. I buy 21 balloons at the airport gift shop, let them go imagining the string wrapped around my throat a half second later. Think about this letter that I wrote to a girl with so much life packed within her bones, a girl who knows not to blame the ocean for a few unlucky breaks, a girl who knows how to build, knows to keep reaching and jump for the balloons. Buy a big ass cosco pack of milk because my body may well be a war zone, but I have never carried white flags in my back pocket. In my hands, I have a shovel and a bucket. I do not blame the ocean, but I will not stop rebuilding.”
This poem helped me dig out of the hole I keep falling into. Thank you so much
Brilliant. You are brilliant. I love you're work.
beautiful
That was beautiful
She should calibrate with Asia.. they have an amazing talent!
You are magic
Where does this title come from?
She can't have children, possibly from a cancer?
Gretta Maybe.. Maybe her path is changing? Like she thought she knew who she was but now she doesn't know.. It reminds me of the astrological things