I don't feel entitled to tell you about it right now, no matter how close we say we are, because I resent you too much. And it's not even your fault. It's probably all on me anyway.

I love you, I do. Then the ride back home takes forever and I die the meaningless death of a fly over the rearview mirror, and there's a whole week ahead. I haven't ( Read more... )

I'm the softer, softest type of girl with a bitterness out of this world
graciously kept under pink cake frosting
spoiled milk on your fridge with a flickering light
close the door again. you can't afford it right now
(I can't afford it ever)
and I fear both the remainness and the change with the outrage of an army -
I'm so loud inside my dreams.

the freshly‐awoken smell of traffic makes me vomit before 7am. fastly paced for people watching, (watch your step, kid!), and there's a leak on the subway, so you gotta wait for the next train. I'll be late for my class today.

I have a class to help me write better stories and one to help me think. it's funny, and I like them, but I always catch ( Read more... )

it astonishes me
just how easy my sick self can drag me back to things:

to being four and moving cities
throwing up on my way to school only to get something out of myself
too sad and too confused to say anything;

to swollen purple eyes from missing home
(while lying wide awake, "home",)
and I wanna run and run and run and run and

to folding paper into ( Read more... )

I am exactly the kind of girl who drops everything she's doing if you text me the moon looks pretty. I think it looks pretty every day, but I'll check it tonight with an extra gleam in my eyes because somebody else said so. and I'll have big plans for all your birthday parties and I'll handmake elaborate gifts even though I don't have enough time ( Read more... )

all hail me, your fucking bitch,

who survived catholic school

(watch me do it again)

whose germ-covered teenage years still lay under a casket

in bright pink and deep blue

of girly-girlness and gut-wrenching misoginy

the one that survives the pastel ribbons

I tie around my throat.

hail me! hail me!

I cut my hair and let it grow to try and make ( Read more... )

the kind of despair that leaves you too weak to scream into your pillow. voiceless and wrathful, still.
the kind of friend I fake emotions for. stumbling through my keyboard to mimic a laugh that I think you deserve.
the kind of quiet understanding you couldn't bear to show. my cat does it quite well, though, and she sits beside me as I cry or squirm ( Read more... )

fun fact number one: nobody ever told me I was brave.
clever, yes. responsible, of course. kind, all the time. nice. easygoing. organized. determined. disciplined. well-behaved.
brave, not so much. bravery is saved for people like my brother. you can see it in his eyes, this sort of fire trembling in warm colors.
I'm the sensitive type, so they say. I ( Read more... )

so, fuck being a grown-up. understandingness sucks. and faking you have any of it pays even less than any dream job you make up.
behind all this barely bearable subway poetry (you know, the kind I scribble away in the corners of my mind when trying to be outstanding in boring multitudes) there is a master escapologist with no fucking place to go.
the ( Read more... )

here's to best friends forever (as forever as middle school can take),

and to the way you're everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

to how I memorized you in baby pinks, twenty-fives, lana del reys, napalm skies,

and in all those stupid letters you must hide under your bed.

the only ghost I ever knew was the bump on your living room floor,

or ( Read more... )