when i was younger
i had this grand idea
that life was split into chapters
with age i figured
chapters would be more interesting,
words would hold more impact
but i’m here now,
wide awake at 2am,
and i think learning to ride a bike
seems just as important
as falling in love for the first time
spraining a finger
doesn’t seem any less significant
than broken sobs
into stained brown pillow
on my eighteenth birthday
so i no longer believe in chapters
there is no chapter 1 or chapter 2
just one long, endless story
with no structure or turning point,
no proper ending,
no room for epilogue
life doesn’t allow
for the courtesy
Been waiting a year to post this.
I’ve met some pricks in my time but you are the fucking cactus.
Somebody tried to stump this squid by putting it in front of a background that its camouflage mechanisms could never hope to imitate…
So it turned itself transparent.
stick it to the man, Squid.
i will. i needed this today
you had me at “hello” and you lost me at “i think your friend is cute”
Some people are waiting for a stranger to walk up and tell ‘em just how perfect they are; as if you are in the middle of their dance floor. A fluttering wish of syrup you can’t wait to taste.
Hold your breath and wait. We need to get rid of them. But try it. Look at the one that’s lonely and wandering aimlessly for warm arms to shelter in. Look into their eyes and tell them just how entitled they should be to have drawn you in; floating on their pheromones, thirsty for a touch of that curved smile. You’re guaranteed a night of royalty.
But that’s a high standard to keep.
I prefer a different route:
You have to choke your lover with so many actions, so many words and so much dismay they can’t help but to want to touch you. You have to say you want to kiss them and only rub their lips. You want to say you can’t keep your hands off them and sit quietly, legs crossed and hands locked between your thighs and say, “i’m fighting the feeling.”
Be… as if your skin is a different kind of leather and your tone a different hue than most. You have to slither like a fucking python, poison them with the lights on, smile when they flicker off and let it be known to the public. You have to make them feel securely independent, free to roam and come at will. You have to let them breathe on you just a little. You have to starve and feed and starve and feed ‘em.
Or you can find your prince and princess’. But I prefer leggings to a cinderella dress. And I prefer vodka over water before bed. Take your pick, I guess.
I just want someone who will kiss me when I’m mad and lets me cry in front of them and buys me pizza and watches scary movies with me and holds my hand real tight even if it’s sweaty and thinks I’m beautiful no matter what I look like and lets me steal their sweaters so I can sleep with their smell on my skin and who laughs at the same things I do and just never lets me go, no matter how hard I try to push them away.