THAT THEY’RE NOT TRYING
BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW IF THEY’RE TRYING OR NOT
JUST BECAUSE IT DOESN’T LIVE UP TO YOUR STANDARDS DOESN’T MEAN THEY’RE NOT TRYING
Some people have sex and that’s okay
Some people don’t have sex and that’s also okay
but what’s NOT okay is putting fucking ketchup in your god damn mac and cheese
Things I want to do: kiss you
Things I’m scared to do: kiss you
For Those Who Love More Than They Are Loved:
you’re not as empty as you think you are. there was always blood in your veins and thoughts in your brain, you’ll never be emptied out of yourself. but you fell again, didn’t you? you curse gravity as you see the one you fell for rise up and join the stratosphere, where they probably belong better anyway, you think. amongst shooting stars and galaxies, joining hands with infinities.
brush the gravel off your bloodied knees, regain your breath by leaning on the trees and look at me. you have brambles in your hair, and you rebel against the air. don’t feel so bad for being so human, dear. your unrequited love fell with you, see it over there? pick it up. the other half to that love, I will tell you where it is. come a little closer, it’s a closely guarded secret. but I’m your Conscience, I must tell you these things.
that love, it is in yourself. in between each of your ribs, however cracked they may be. in the beds of your fingernails, laced with the blood they are stained in. in that planet-esque heart of yours, it is what powers the core. it orbits your brain, yet it goes undetected. I’ll tell you how to use that love, but treat it well. it can expire and will you’ll end up with a type of poisoning in your bloodstream if left out to melt in the sun.
first off, tell yourself you’re beautiful. don’t trust the One, or the Two, or the Seventeen. they can’t make up their own mind, and you can’t get inside their mind to make if up for them. tell yourself you’re beautiful. because hell, you’ve needed to hear it for a while. your laugh is a thunderstorm and can knock someone right off their feet. your smile causes ripples on the river bed, and relaxes everyone who looks in your direction. you look PHENOMENAL in those jeans. your story is your own bible; your daily routine can be your own ten commandments.
next, let yourself cry. no, it’s not fucking romantic. but it’s fucking human, isn’t it? you’re human, that person on the street who winked at you is human, that teacher who always put you down is human. let yourself crumble, but don’t forget that even when you woke up with tears on your cheeks, the sun still shone on your face from your bedroom window. if a whole planet didn’t give up on you, why should you?
buy yourself the flowers. the roses. give yourself the candlelit baths with rose petals. dress up nicely and bring yourself to dinner. bring a friend if you want, who you can goof around with.
allow yourself to love other people, but don’t let them be your only source of love or happiness. the number 2 bus to town still runs every morning with or without that person. the birds still search for worms, you still breathe air, cars still require petrol whether you wake up with them in your arms or not.
do not deprive yourself on love from others, but do not depend yourself on love from others."
Me: *makes her cum n buys her pizza*
Her: *leaves me for someone with a job and personality*