1. Broke 6mi Colorado mile high style today. High altitudes got my lungs pulsing. Shoes are back to being bloody. Rain got me wet. #onestepatatime

    Broke 6mi Colorado mile high style today. High altitudes got my lungs pulsing. Shoes are back to being bloody. Rain got me wet. #onestepatatime



  2. 19/30

    I have always had small hands.
    I find it difficult to handle burritos or press down on the right strings to make the strum on the guitar to or screw open a jar of cherries.
    Tonight I dropped a glass full of the beer that I just paid for all over the riding boots my mom hand-me-downed to me 7 years ago.
    As a friend helped dry my shins off and lift the broken glass off the pavement, she asked what happened.
    I responded with what I have always believed.
    “Oh nothing. I don’t think these things were made to hold on to anything,
    at all.”

    - Steph Holmbo


  3. 18/30

    On the Third Move In One Year

    As soon as I got here
    all I could write about was
    the ocean
    the salt
    the current.
    It’s as if the mountains crooned,
    “Welcome home.”
    And I couldn’t help but cough up,
    “Could you have gotten it wrong?
    Could you have gotten it so wrong

    - Steph Holmbo
  4. 'What does he say?' he asked.
    ‘He’s very sad,’ Úrsula answered, ‘because he thinks that you’re going to die.’
    ‘Tell him,’ the colonel said, smiling, ‘that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.’
    — Gabriel García Márquez (via joshtheword)
  5. 17/30

    The Interview

    What do you think makes me right for the job?
    Well I believe I’m extremely qualified. I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from New York University, one of the finest universities in the nation, some might even say in the world.
    No, yes, I know this job is not for performing and that is what I got my degree in, but I learned an extreme amount of other skills there too. And don’t worry I will not get too personal. Or ask too many questions. Just smart questions. And I follow orders well. Because I need to. I learned how to work really hard on no hours of sleep or how to get creative when all the lightbulbs shatter in the cab on the way to rehearsal or how to make peanut butter sandwiches when you can’t afford bread.
    Yes that’s just peanut butter. Most likely on a spoon. You’re right. Ha. And, uh, not to say I was ever poor, because I wasn’t. I handle money really well. I’m an excellent budget-er. I would handle this company’s money really well. I would also consider myself a people person. I know how to talk to almost anyone. One afternoon while attempting to read a book in Washington Square Park I had an entire conversation with a homeless man about how he believes us all to be reptiles, but he is technically a reptile king and he can see the colors of people’s auras without even knowing them and that he can tell by my aura that I’m constantly struggling against the world so if I just stopped fighting the current so often maybe I could actually find success somewhere.
    Not to say I that I fight often. Or that I get irrationally angry. Or that I’m emotional. That is not what I mean. He was just a crazy person and was looking to relate someone. Not that I’m crazy. I’m not crazy. I am creative. I love creating things and figuring out solutions and typing emails. I won’t get too creative though. I won’t do something stupid like sign my emails with “catch you good looking mother fuckers lata.” Oh I don’t cuss. I use very eloquent language. I’m a poet actually. I write poetry. Not necessarily your traditional kind of poetry that people speak, uh, in front of each other, and sometimes they yell and cry onstage, in front of everyone and share secrets they haven’t shared with their own mother and explore the hollowest caverns of themselves.
    I will not get too personal. Or ask too many questions. Just smart questions. And I follow orders well. Because I need to. I mean because I want to. Because I want this job. Because I’d be good at it. I know how to sit in my chair like a lady. I know how to type 74 words a minute. I know how to wear a pencil skirt and tuck in my shirt and put my cowboy boots away for the just-the-weekend and apply my eyeliner in one smooth sweep. Because I can’t not have this job anymore. Because I’m the waves of debt are making all my water bottles taste like salt. I haven’t bought new socks in over a year. I have already lost my apartment. I have stopped imagining a world where I’d ever be able to save any part of my paycheck because this is what it will feel like every month for the next 20 years. The idea that any audition would even let me in the room is so 6 years ago. Being optimistic and having the right attitude and believing that my passion would be able to carry me through the coldest parts of wondering if I would actually have to walk the streets some nights pretending I had a bed to sleep in, well those times are gone and I paid all this money for an education that everyone has and I’m no different than anybody else. Everyone has this charming idea of what the bohemian life looks like, how the starving artist keeps so thin and full of strife to write and sing and perform about. What they don’t know is they don’t exist anymore. I am what the starving artist has become. Weighed down so heavy by debt that they push the artist parts of themselves inside the pocket of this blazer and put on just the right lip gloss and heels to get the job. So I’m here. To get the job. And I work hard so I think I’ll be perfect for it. I will not get too personal. Or ask too many questions. Just smart questions. And I follow orders well. Because I need to.
    Thanks so much for your time. I’ll wait for you to call me.



  6. 16/30

    (after kait rokowski)

    "A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor."
    English proverb

    And it’s not like I don’t agree.
    I just wonder what kind of expert you’re making me.
    Because I don’t remember what the sun looks like
    reflecting off these waves.
    All I’ve tasted for months is salt.
    I don’t think I’ll ever pee clear again I’m so fucking dehydrated.
    And if we’re on the proverb train “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger”
    But how much do I need to dead lift to get a gentle breeze?
    the rock of the current that doesn’t slam me starboard?
    I’ve been drinking these bottles dry
    to try to convince myself
    1. the vomiting is just from the hangover,
    and not the consistent state of seasickness
    and 2. to attempt sleep in the midst of the thunder
    rattling underneath the deck.
    I just felt her calling you know?
    And I figured if I answered, she would treat me with some aspect of kindness.
    That she wouldn’t lie about
    her sexy horizons
    and melting sunsets
    and the possibility to turn this steering wheel any direction I choose.
    That there would be mornings of clear sunrises,
    of pretending we are the only ones in the world
    while the waves carried us away to sleep.
    Every sky is grey.
    Sleep and I are nowhere near speaking terms.
    You let me down, man.
    I would get angrier if I didn’t get so fuckin’ sad about it.
    The more I cry, the bigger the sea gets,
    which luckily makes the problem bigger.
    At least the salt has started to sting less
    or maybe it’s just more comfortable than being dry these days.
    I’m not saying I don’t enjoy adventure,
    but it is a little difficult to breath it all in when underwater.
    I can appreciate the rain.
    I just thought you knew how much I craved the sunshine.
    I just thought I wouldn’t have to be out here alone.
    I just thought you’d stick around when the waters got rough.
    I just though the waters wouldn’t always be rough.

    In the meantime I’ve been putting hats on the necks of these bottles.
    The cowboy rims tilt just right to shield them from the storm.
    They already have name tags,
    At least there’s somebody to talk to



  7. wallflowerbloom:

    No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

    We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

    (Dead Poets Society, 1989)

    Just a reminder. Just a reminder, Steph. Just a reminder.

    (via thegoodishgirl)

  8. 15/30

    I keep off all the lights.
    The fog is thick in this little room
    and I can’t help but swallow all the doubts of this Monday thinking it was only air.
    I keep pounding the piano that is not plugged in.
    I could be hitting all the wrong notes, but I’m believing the melody is right.
    It is sad, but right, and sad enough to get wrapped in the fog’s arms,
    welcomed home to this darkness, like it belongs nowhere but here.
    And I have nothing to say,
    only my fingers plugging away at this silent song.
    I can’t stop swallowing.
    The quiet only makes it that much heavier.
    The only thing rattling in these walls is the echo of each gulp.



  9. gonna work on waiting if it’s true you wanna say you love me everyday

  10. 14/30

    The Things I Want To Give Back:

    The hours
    The hours
    The hours I still spend wandering into the memory of you (we)
    The road trips we could (would)
    have adventured on
    The countless times you whispered, “will always” (have never)
    The sunrises we would have killed (survived)
    to melt into

    The hours I still spend wandering into the memory of we (you)
    The 2ams when the heavy got too loud
    and you spread out the photos of all captions of, “you did” (did not)
    as reminders on the hardwood floors
    The afternoons, the summer light fading fast, where we had to (want to)
    pretend we weren’t too.

    The hours.
    The hours.
    The hours.