mybrain

I used to think home was the bottom of a wine bottle
Or a 2am bar fight.
Home was time zones,
dirty fingernails,
glasses half full.
It was forgetting to call my parents and
spilling coffee on my white sweater.
Six months later, it’s 8am and you’re lying next to me.
The sunlight coming in from our bedroom window
hits your face at the perfect angle.
You teach me about Hemmingway and
how his own loneliness drove him mad.
We eat breakfast on the floor and I say,
“I was damaged goods before I met you.
Russian Roulette with my finger waiting patiently on the trigger.
Everything around me was static noise,
dead roses, and coffee grounds.
I considered mistakes and kisses to be of the same value
and projected my love on to other people
when I couldn’t figure out how to love myself.
But one look at you and all of this collateral damage
doesn’t seem so collateral anymore.
I trace your body like a map.
The indents in your spine let me know that I am home.
And by home I mean pomegranate seeds,
Afternoon plans,
my finger off the trigger.
By home I mean water colors,
comfortable silence,
and the birthmark on your left shoulder.
And I know that my love is messy and unorganized most of the time
but your skin is the closest thing I have ever called to home.”
—  1/14/16, this one isn’t about you but i hope it can be someday (a.aquilo)
i have polaroid’s on my wall
of all the boys i used to kiss.
there are dirty dishes in the sink
and i think this will be the year that
i pretend to love people just because
there’s nothing else to do.
i spend my time reading poems about girls
who don’t eat and smoke cigarettes.
i spend my time reading poems about girls
who rip their ribcage open just to find out
that there is nothing left inside except
empty beer bottles.
i get high and slip into silk
and realize that i am a combination of
1/3 love and 2/3 champagne bubbles
and i think to myself,
“maybe this is what it’s like to be
the hurricane instead of the rain.“
—  9/23/15, i forgot who i was a year ago (a.aquilo)

Do not stay with someone who insults you. They did mean it, no matter how intoxicated they were.

Do not stay with someone who hits you. They will do it again, no matter how many times they say they won’t.

Do not stay with someone who makes you uncomfortable. You won’t get more comfortable with them, no matter how much time you spend with them.

Do not stay with someone who forces you to do things you don’t want to do. They won’t stop trying to control you, no matter what they say.

Do not stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy. You come first, always.

to the boys who make you dizzy:

it begins as a tidal wave. it punches you in the stomach and rips your heart out. you are 20 years old living off of .99 cent coffee and drowning in the scent of his cologne. he stares straight into your eyes and suddenly you feel the need to gasp for air but you don’t. you play it cool- you always play it cool. because it is much easier to look away and pick at your fingernails instead of staring straight back at him. it is much easier to swallow your words instead of blurting out, “i know you and i are simple but the way you laugh makes my body tingle.” it is much easier to pretend that your feelings got lost in the attic of old lovers or that your parents divorce highlighted the evidence that people don’t stick around. because god forbid you let him know that someone like him could really make things right for someone like you. god forbid he finds out that you actually feel a sense of comfort whenever he’s around. you hide your feelings so well, you’ve forgotten where you’ve placed them. except on the nights you spend alone in your bed wishing someone was there to clean out the dusty corners of your mind. you think of him and his gentle hands. you think of calm waters and clear skies. you think, “i shouldn’t have played it cool. i should’ve wrapped my hands around your neck as if saying ‘i’m drowning in you because i don’t want to take the easy way out anymore.’”

i need more time

sometimes that’s all it takes. sitting on a wooden bench, with the sun blazing on your back, and you’re staring at a body of water trying to pin point the end. you realize how fucking small you are and how many more bodies of water and people you still have yet to meet. how many more streets you have to cross and dogs to pet. it’s crazy, isn’t it? how we constantly feel so old and we complain that time is running out but we still have so much more fucking living to do.

The Secret Life of the American Teenager
  • Amy: omg I love you ben im pregnant
  • Madison and lauren: OMG NO WAY *tells everyone*
  • Ben: aw I love you amy lets get married
  • *amy and ben get married...kind of*
  • Adrian: ricky have sex with me pls I love you
  • Ricky: *has sex with some chick*
  • Adrian: OMG YOU HAD SEX WITH AMY
  • Adrian: ben, they had sex so now we have to
  • *ben and adrian have sex*
  • Madison and lauren: OMG NO WAY *tells everyone*
  • Ricky: *has sex with some chick*
  • Adrian: ben im pregnant with your baby
  • Ben: okay lets get married
  • Grace: sex before marriage killed me dad
  • Jack: omg someone pls have sex with me
  • Everyone: sex x100000 per episode
have fun kissing other girls

i am blank. my mind no longer paints you in metaphors and i am trying to figure out if this is a part of moving on. i read an article the other day entitled “the beauty and pain of falling in love with the right person at the wrong time” and i couldn’t help but think of our shitty love story. what if that was the case? what if i am meant for you and you are meant for me but our timing is off? timing has never been our strong suit. we have left each other a million times before only to end up back underneath the slutty sheets. how cliche of us. but you’ve found somebody new. somebody who didn’t come with massive emotional baggage like i did. so now you’re fucking some older brunette who changes her ways for you and i’m stuck here imaging all the different ways i could have loved you if you let me. but like i said before, i am blank. i can’t even remember the color of your eyes. that is progress. every day is progress.

I always do this to myself. I wish I knew how to care less. I wish I wasn’t so loyal and forgiving. I wish I didn’t have as big of a heart. I wish I wasn’t always the hurt one. Maybe some people are meant to live life alone. And i guess I’m one of those people.

tidal waves in the form of you

some days hurt more than others, you know? like when you miss someone so much it feels nauseating. it’s almost as if you want to crawl into their bones one last time and say, “i know we did not work out but sometimes your scent still lingers in the air and there is a pile of your old sweatshirts near the doorway that i’m trying not to throw out”. people ask you why your soul is so dark and all you do is shrug. but on the inside you’re screaming about how you loved someone who didn’t appreciate you and it fucked you up. you don’t want people to feel sorry for you. and you don’t want any of the metaphysical bullshit. you just want peace and quiet and your secrets to be ripped out of his skull because he didn’t deserve to take them with him when he left.

art school taught me

and then it hits you like a shit ton of bricks. when you realize how uncreative you really are. or maybe it’s that you’re so creative but you feel as though you are not gifted enough to expose it. maybe you actually have overwhelming amounts of thoughts, ideas, inventions, constellations, but you’re too busy worrying about the outcome. you’re too busy worrying about pleasing other people that you almost forget about yourself. you’re too damn busy perfecting, poking, and prying that when you’re done, your finished product is no longer human. it’s not raw or sincere. it lacks compassion, grace, and honesty. so what happens now? what happens when you dissect the one thing that made your insides feel like fire? if you pick at a scab too much, it turns into a scar. it leaves a mark on your skin and never goes away. so perhaps if you stop perfecting, poking, and prying so much, maybe.. just maybe, your finished project will be somewhat human. and the fire might still be there and you will still be whole. and you will still be you.