Cool relationship idea: actually be supportive of your partner and be respectful about their personal space. Stay your own person.
Love is a very individual thing. The way I love you will never happen again if we broke up, as in, I will never love another person the way that I love you. All love is situational and I don’t believe it is ever repeated. The way we love anyone is never the same with anyone else. So over the course of this universe this love exists only once and you and I will exist once as we are and never again. So in the event that our love is gone— forever, never to be felt by anyone ever again, I will remember what it felt like and I will know and you will know and that is what truly matters.
Adulthood is like the vet, and we’re all dogs that were excited for the car ride until we realized where we’re going.
That’s some real shit right there.
I am a disgusting thing.
Smelling of sweat.
Allowing food to drip down my chin as I eat.
Wearing torn lingerie.
So what.
This is my softness.
This is my femininity.
Dirt-stained and
sprawled out in front of me.
So loud the neighbors can hear it next door.
Take it in.
I am a delicate dirty thing
whose mouth is too full
for apologies.
Smelling of sweat.
Allowing food to drip down my chin as I eat.
Wearing torn lingerie.
So what.
This is my softness.
This is my femininity.
Dirt-stained and
sprawled out in front of me.
So loud the neighbors can hear it next door.
Take it in.
I am a delicate dirty thing
whose mouth is too full
for apologies.
PART ONE: WHAT THEY TELL YOU
Your hair is made of gold,
nothing stays but you’re
in this for the long haul, there’s
no exit-lane from the bitterness
of growth. It’s better when
you stick to the edges, let
yourself get knocked down
by the stronger winds, the ones
that burn going down,
but of course you’re not better
in the end. You don’t get
nine lives or even two but
you do get to watch yourself
die every day for five years,
and if you think you’re finally
alive after that then you’re wrong.
Heartbreak hurts, & you’ll want
to give up but you can always
carry that brick wall around
with you even when it looks
like a mountain. Even when you
don’t call them bad days anymore
they’re just days, they’re just
weeks, this is just your life.
PART TWO: WHAT THEY DON’T
When you cut all of your hair off
people don’t stop calling you
‘sweetheart’, they just do it
without the smile.
There is an exit-lane, it just
doesn’t lead to anywhere good,
and in the edges or the
thick of the woods there are just
as many monsters, some of them
just dress differently and
talk differently and look at you
less before they take you apart.
There are no better days, there
is no greener grass, this is
your life. You can do with it
what you will, but your heart
will always ache and your spine
will always stand up straight
at the sight of a big dog with
sharp teeth because of that
time when you were four, and
the brick wall isn’t actually
a wall it’s everything you were
dealt in the card game nobody wins.
You don’t have to carry it.
You can put it down, you can
decide you’d rather build
something out of the scraps,
whatever you like—
it will still hurt but
you don’t have to carry it.