I got home that day and I cried. Cold water ran down my back out of a shower head that probably should’ve been replaced years ago. I couldn’t find the energy to take my clothes off. Polyester and denim stuck to my skin and all I could think was that I wished I could be empty again. Maybe if I let myself cry a little longer, I’d end up with nothing left to cry out. Nothing to be down about, nothing to get angry over, nothing to care about. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I didn’t want to feel anything.
—  untitled // r.e.s
On our first date, I told you I was flighty. Impatient. Easily bored.
I don’t paint my nails because I can never sit still long enough
for even one coat to dry. I don’t fold my laundry because I hate the routine. I would rather buy new cutlery than wash my old ones.
Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I have no motivation. Maybe I’m just looking for somebody to grab my shoulders and give me a shake and explain what normal is and why I should do it. But sometimes I brush my teeth for seven minutes straight because it just feels right. Some nights
I put my pillow on the opposite end of the bed because I’m still hopeful that I’ll wake up differently if I sleep differently. I never do.
Sometimes I forget that I’m reading in the middle of flipping a page,
instead struck by the thought we would rather make paper than oxygen, would rather have one less life-source than one less novel. I wonder about priorities. I wonder about people who think it’s necessary to match their socks when they leave the house every morning as if that’s what determines their character. I wonder about people who carry around purses that contain nothing but gum. I wonder about people who spend all their hours at a desk and then return to their house to pass the night alone in a cold bed with a frozen dinner. I wonder if they think that money will make them happier than other humans. I don’t like kissing when I have lipstick on, because I’m afraid of leaving a stain on a cheek, as if I’m marking my territory somewhere I don’t belong, as if I’m trespassing on camera. I stay up for twenty hours a day and spend the other fours hours knowing that the longest a person can stay alive without sleep is ten days. I wonder if my nervous system has begun to break down, leaving me nervous and broken along with it. I don’t understand the pills the doctors prescribed me even though they told me I was just upset over being broken up with. I told them I wasn’t upset, I was morose. I was downtrodden. I was a leaky ship; still afloat but getting lower under the weight of the water every second. I didn’t want to sink. I wanted to sail. But they didn’t tell me that the happy little green and white pills would make me plateau. On our first date, I said I felt flat. Not the kind of flat of calm water on a windless day, but the kind of flat that you associate with deflated balloons. All out of air or out of breath or struggling to find any words left. I felt like the kind of flat that musicians hate. That I hate and I can’t play a single instrument. On our first date, I think I told you I would understand if you didn’t stay. Nobody did and I never blamed them. I was too busy wondering about people who believed in numbers and the healing power of yoga on 3 a.m mornings and tying their shoes without kneeling down to notice when they left. I am stuck inside of a world that I don’t quite understand, with people I never seem to connect with.


hello, i love you deeply and i am no good and you probably shouldn’t have met me.
i am a nosebleed that runs down your throat, i am your stained pillowcase from your open-mouthed crying that puts you to sleep. i am that third grade love note you keep in your pocket and i am every other word spelled wrong and i am asymmetrical hearts drawn out of the lines and i am that ringing housephone that you never pick up because you know that it’s never going to be for you. i am never going to be for you. 
hello, i love you madly and i am bad news and you probably should try to avoid me. i think i saw you in my deck of cards when i was playing solitaire; a queen of hearts that fit nowhere. i shuffled you back in and put you in the game drawer and i’m sorry if you felt forgotten. i am that shirt at the back of your closet, misshapen and worn from years on the hanger. i am that giftcard you got from your estranged aunt to the store you never go to. i have value but god knows you don’t appreciate it.
hello, i love you terribly and i am going to explode if you so much as acknowledge my existence. you can tell yourself that i’m not what you want but that i will put out like two wet fingers on a lit match. you can lay in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you wouldn’t mind brushing my hair while i cry about the life i have chosen to live. i may not be the love you never knew but i am the mistake on the test you were too lazy to correct, thinking hell it’s not perfect but at least it’s got to be worth something.
—  12;00 am. March 18th. 2015. (K.P.K)