If The Fantasy Book I'm Reading Doesn't Have A Super Ominous And Quite Foggy Forest Of Impending Doom,

Is it just me or does it sound like whispering when someone types in all lowercase?

That stage in the crush where you listen to maneater songs so you don't crash out waiting for a text even though deep down you're just a lovergirl and you just wanna hold hands and talk about anime.

Cutting off the tongue seems like the practical solution

I DO MY BEST ON THE MARGINS,

when the perils of yearning is more than building a pyre

for the body, when cutting off the tongue to prevent it from

speaking your name over & over again like a hymn becomes

a practical solution. I so want to be acquainted with January

in a way that doesn’t swell my wounds of you. I wake with

carnations swaying in the mouth, a good use for the sweetness

that stems from your name—one day, you’ll hear your name

from the mouth of a lover, and it will all click, how everything

was in praise of you.

romanticizing my anxiety by calling myself a false prophet

I would prefer to ache than to feel nothingness. I want to listen to songs that make me double over in emotional agony because pain is beautiful. Pain connects us. I want to skip down the street and run over train tracks. I want to be early to weddings in my best dress, and stay late at house parties helping my friend get the crumbs out of their couch. I want to sway with the ocean. I want to grow like a sunflower, to face the sun and have no regrets.

“i would rather die of passion than of boredom”

- Van Gough

I was so young when I behaved twenty-five

yet now I find

I've grown into

a tall child

-Mitski, "first love/late spring"

Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf

Let's whisper secrets under the moon bridge🤭

㋡🥀

moon bridge in china.

*doubles over in agony*

The Shape of a Lack

You like a woman shaped like an absence / You like a woman who you can read like a mystery / You like an actress, ready and willing to recreate your favorite pornography / You like a good gander at your own reflection / You like a woman who is a mirror / She's flat, and bright, and all about you / You like a woman like a deer in the road / Crushed beneath your careless wheels / She's a mangled mess of thin, knotted limbs / But it's her own fault / She saw your lights and she froze / You like a woman like a blunt instrument / She's an implement to inflict injuries of your own self-hatred / You like a woman who you can put in a trophy case / So that you can invite other men to come have a gaze / So that other men can look at her and pat you on the back / So that other men can covet what you have / And just maybe that will heal the wound in the shape of your dad / You like a woman in the shape of a lack / She's a beautiful gap for you to fill / She's a handy little rag to clean up your spills / You like a woman you can burn through as quickly as striking a matchstick / You like a woman you can grift / After all, what use is having her if it says nothing of your own cleverness? / You want a woman like a party-trick / That, or a dog you can kick / You want to toss your stick out into the wilderness / Sit back and watch as she faithfully runs off to retrieve / You want a woman who won't ask you to stay / You want a woman who will never leave

Somehow, my boss is like Captain Holt from Brooklyn 99, and as foretold, I'm becoming such an Amy Santiago ....

Brb-gonna-go-have-a-solo-acoustic-guitar- sesh-while-the-birds-sing-with-me-core

(That's my baby btw^)