annathepanda123

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tastes like grapefruit by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

tastes like grapefruit

you stare into the great depths of the sky, and then you go home and lay down in bed, but you keep the lights on. You don’t fall asleep. you think about what earth looks like from a thousand miles away, how kitchen lights can be seen from space as pinpricks of light, and all of humanity, all of civilization, just looks like a flashlight shining through a spaghetti colander. I have to tell you something because you have the type of breathtaking prettiness that reminds me of swimming pools: Einstein’s typist fell in love with him, and I’ve always wondered why she did. Maybe she fell in love with his handwriting. I try and p

for girls who don't drink water by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

for girls who don't drink water

sugar is a familiar feeling and carbonation is a bit like finding constellations in a dark blue swimming pool. i am tired, so I drink cold soda to stay up all night. I hear the stars outside my window humming some breathy noise in another language. it sounds like tap water running. the soda cans and plastic bottles collect in my body, filling me with flat, florescent orange liquid. i want to be bottled, want to be a never-ending-almost-morning that tastes like clementine juice, sweet like a flower field, easier to forget than most things. because i am tired of making the right choices, the tabs from the endless cans are strung onto a

17 million dollars for a house by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

17 million dollars for a house

the cab driver calls me a pretty little thing as i get in. he starts talking quickly, saying, every cab in the world got Black Ice car freshener, but he likes this here blue car freshener called New Car Smell and the green one—he don’t know its name no more, but it makes sure the cab don’t smell like cigarettes. “it don’t smell like cigarettes in here, right?” i say no, it doesn’t and he says his favorite air freshener is a light blue one with a picture of the flower bouquet on it, but they don’t sell that one anywhere no more. Everybody likes it too much. it smells like baby powder

For Paul Going 120 in Upstate New York by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

For Paul Going 120 in Upstate New York

In Paul’s truck, I go by my middle name or my initials. In the front seat, we take turns spitting chewing tobacco into a coffee thermos, and I play with a keychain I bought him, careful not to make too much noise. In these seconds of sweat & silence, I have become unfamiliar to myself. I am no longer interested in my first name or any other exciting misspellings of the word love. Every hour, on the hour, Ghost tours pass through the streets of our hometown, and I could give that ghost tour: starting in the river, stopping briefly at the mailbox I smashed in with a heavy rock, and ending above Paul’s eyebrow where he still

my favorite adverb by annathepanda123, literature

Feeling like San Francisco by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Feeling like San Francisco

I am so certain of my convictions. It’s best to drive fast when the road feels like an empty house. If you follow subway maps, you’ll never know where you really are. You might have gotten on the downtown 4 to Union Square, but you could be anywhere between there and 23rd street. I once wrote an entire novel using only the word "warmth" I feel you can learn more about a book from its title Than its contents. If the road feels like the almost familiar face of stranger you can’t quite place but you can’t tell if that’s just because its sadness seems accustomed or because you know that miracles are usually j

Silent letters whistling by annathepanda123, literature

Calendars from Poland by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Calendars from Poland

Lipiec is July Sierpien is August Wrzesien is September Świeca jabłko cynamon na stoliku is the apple cinnamon candle on your coffee table Błyszcząca skóra na karku is the shiny skin on the back of your neck Centrum handlowego w czasie świąt is the mall at Christmas time Root Beer addech is root beer breath Na tylnym siedzeniu swojego samochodu is the backseat of your car Żarówka pali w Calgary is the lightbulb burning in Calgary Masło barwie światła słonecznego is the butter-colored sunlight Wiersz, który jest po prostu losowy ciąg niepowiązanych polskich s

Minimal surface structure by annathepanda123, literature

Of color by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Of color

You will buy a car, and it will smell like sleeping. And our mother will pay for it. Months of hard work to see her sad son smile. The car has no seatbelts, but you weren’t going to use them anyway, right? You were going to date a pretty girl with pretty eyes with pretty skin with pretty feet with a pretty smile who didn’t care about safety anyway, right? She will ride in the passenger seat and pick the music. She will make you feel like a person of achromatics with her pale prettiness. The world will be hue-less just the way you wanted. She will go to rehab and you will forget about her because that’s all you know how to do

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tastes like grapefruit by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

tastes like grapefruit

for girls who don't drink water by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

for girls who don't drink water

17 million dollars for a house by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

17 million dollars for a house

For Paul Going 120 in Upstate New York by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

For Paul Going 120 in Upstate New York

my favorite adverb by annathepanda123, literature

Feeling like San Francisco by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Feeling like San Francisco

Silent letters whistling by annathepanda123, literature

Calendars from Poland by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Calendars from Poland

Minimal surface structure by annathepanda123, literature

Of color by annathepanda123, literature

Literature

Of color

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About annathepanda123

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Artist // Student // Literature

Dec 8
United States
Deviant for 12 years
She / Her

Badges

Favourite Visual Artist

human beings are my favorite artists (that's corny but true)

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Bastille, The Maine, Mumford & Sons, All Time Low, Refuse to Sleep, He is We, Colbie Caillet, Between the Trees, Enrique Iglesias, Lenka

Favourite Books

King Hall, King Cave, Sanctum, The Age of Miracles, The Nightmare Affair, Falling Kingdoms, Every Day, ALL the Harry Potter's, ALL the Mortal Instruments, AND SO MANY MORE.

Favourite Writers

Scarlett Dawn, Cassandra Clare, L.J Smith, Suzzane Collins, Jennifer Estep, Patrick Ness, Meg Cabot, Richelle Mead, Lauren Oliver, John Green, James Patterson, Stephanie Perkins,Jessica Sorensen, Lauren Kate, Sarah Fine

Tools of the Trade

lots of beautiful things (I promise I'm not this corny in real life)

Other Interests

people watching, listening to music, reading, sculpting, drawing, daydreaming, staying up to unreasonable hours....

Posts

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annathepanda123

Feb 9, 2017

in a language known only to certain kinds of fire

0 min read

Reality doesn’t give us all the answers. It leaves us with blanks that we still need to fill in. And in absence of certainty, we fill those blanks with fiction. And those fictions are necessary because human nature doesn’t allow us to leave spaces empty. Now suppose time was continuous, not just some convincing illusion of continuity—the real deal kind of continuous: past, present, and future, each in a little box, each an isolated incident. Meaning, to be in the present, one must not have any cognizance or recognition of the future or past. To be in the past, one must not have any cognizance or recognition of the present or

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annathepanda123

Dec 2, 2015

hey

0 min read

(please read the following text in a british accent. thank you kindly) i don't quite know why i decided to write this journal. maybe it's because i've felt things slipping away from me. i've felt myself waiting to be filled like i'm some sort of bucket in a kitchen. (that was an awful metaphor. no one keeps buckets in their kitchens.) i miss the old me. or maybe i don't. i don't quite remember what i'm supposed to miss. you know what'd be nice? (you don't have to answer that, it's a rhetorical question) a big grassy field in the middle of nowhere, filled with mist. and i'd be there, standing in a cream linen dress that went to my bare

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annathepanda123

Apr 24, 2015

I'm wearing snowmen socks

0 min read

there was a boy sitting in the headmaster’s office. he was knitting and his feet were perched on the coffee table. they found enough marijuana in his room to arrest him, but he’s just getting a suspension he grinned and said good morning as i grabbed my detention slip. i smiled back. and stole chocolate from the receptionist’s bowl of candy. we delinquent knitters are always fighting the system.   i vaguely know the girl that lives in the room next door her boyfriend thinks we’re best friends so he’s nice to me and buys me ice cream and lets me cry in his car when all the houses look pretty and i rea