I wanted to ask, wanted to clear things. I wanted to remove all these thoughts inside my head. I wanted to know what’s the truth. Because I have this feeling that something isn’t right, things aren’t adding up. And I don’t know if you’ll tell the truth or if you’re just going to shush me off, like my thoughts are just out of paranoia. I wanted to ask but what good would it do anyway? Will I be able to accept the truth? Will I get hurt, again? I’m tired of getting hurt, of picking up my heart everytime someone else picks and drops it, of rebuilding myself, of telling myself I deserve better but only settling for what people give to me. I’m tired of listening to people when they say how much they love me but some of their actions prove less. I’m tired of always putting my heart out in hopes that maybe, this time I won’t get left behind, that maybe this time, I will be enough for someone. I’m tired and I just want someone to prove to me that I can also be a priority, I’m tired of always telling people that no matter what they do, I will understand them, will forgive them but only takes that for granted. For once I just want someone to tell me “you got me” and proves it everyday.
Demera was the shyest ghost
That ever walked the land,
And the places he liked the most
Contained water and sand,
So he liked to go a-haunting
Where none would walk or jog
And there you’ll find him wandering,
Within the dense sea fog.
I buy large chips so I can share them with you
but you’re gone
just like everyone is so often gone
and I find myself roaming the streets aimlessly
this isn’t how it’s supposed to be
but it’s ok
because a nice old man buys me a glass of wine
and I no longer feel like a cloud of anxiety
and maybe I can talk to cute boys
except when the cute boys turn up I talk to everybody except for them
until I manage to orchestrate it all like a symphony
and he looks at me
and I wish I could fold myself up like those fancy napkins you see in expensive restaurants
but I can’t fold myself up and here I am dripping all over the floor like spilt beer
sparkling with authenticity
and god dammit why do all the cute boys have to be in crowded places
because I’d quite like to make this space smaller and just have a conversation
a proper conversation
if only the world would stop making so much noise and let him finish his sentences
because I’d quite like him to finish his sentences
because I’m fizzing with the answers to a thousand potential questions
why are you here
how did this happen
to which I’d say
I’m here for you
and it happened because I wanted it to.
SCRAPY DOO CANR EAT MY FUCKING ASS HIS FUCJINH VOIVE IS SHIT AND HIZ FUCKING CHARACTER DEAIGN IS A CHUBY SCOOBY DOO HEAD WITH A FUCKINGS FURRYY BODY ANDB HIS EPISOFES ALWAYS END WITH HIM BEINH A DICK AND HONESTLY BLESS YOU YOTR DOING THE LORDS WORK
I imagine this being yelled at me from a car when I’m walking down the street. I’m filled with both slight fear and incredible happiness. Thank you!
it was a trailer park love,
bonfires and beers,
he tasted like smoke,
she was cherry vodka,
pink from the booze,
pink from the heat,
and burned all the way down.
it was summer nights,
and sour mornings.
dancing in the smoke
and crackling laughter
setting nerves on fire.
fighting in the dawn
and avoided gazes.
infatuation of slick skin
and wet lips,
the shared fire
of desperate escapes
and hazy mornings.
he was high on her
and she was never high enough.