20 year-old Florida native.
Student of Sociology.
Slave to creativity. Feminist. Cat-lover. Musician. Utterly enchanted by the macabre and unusual. Poet. Lyricist. Read me out loud.
Remember when it rained caterpillars
And you made me face my fears, regardless
And the short walk seemed longer,
But better with you there?
The air conditioner with fluid on its lungs
rocks me to sleep at night with the frequency
of hummingbird wings. The occasional hiccup
as the electrical system of the house lets shift
the burden of our existence. You are never far;
even in the darkness, I can feel you until
my eyes dim and chase distance into sleep.
My bed is a blessing of poor construction.
My headboard knows the curves of your name
better than my lips, dancing tirelessly to
the rhythm of heartbeats when all is quiet.
When I told you
that I missed you,
I didn’t mean
that I missed you.
I miss you,
Who used to tell
Me her dreams.
Who used to kiss me like the world was ending.
Who used to look at me like I wasn’t nothing.
Because I don’t
Miss you most
When I’m alone in the dark.
I miss you most
When my lips are against yours,
And you’re not there
i want your sweat and blood,
your spinning head,
your gasping lungs
pure dirt and crooked smirk
the speakers boom and i’m in love,
hungry shy, and vulgar drunk
i can’t put any of this into words
that do your charms justice
i’m no good at much and i never learn
my intentions can’t be trusted
i feel warm and maladjusted
on my toes,
in the curling throes of lusting function
Guess who wrote a sexy poem in church?
If you want to read my inner rambling and be spammed with selfies, check out my personal tumblr bohemianrationalist.
This is a rather fucked up list of things
I wish I could say to you now, but can’t.
Firstly, your eyes are my favorite color,
not because of me, but because of you,
and I’d be lying if I said I liked
how I have to look away before too long,
because otherwise I’ll be naked in front of you,
tongue tied and incapable of any thought
beyond oh god, why are you so wonderful.
I feel like taking you to dinner, getting you drunk,
and making you forget her.
I feel like taking you out of town
in the middle of the night and making you
remember how sweet it is to have no words,
so close to death that your brain
doesn’t know the difference.
I don’t want to stop until you’re shaking,
and even then I want you to be so completely gone
that you can only mumble nothing in particular,
too deep in throes to register my open adoration
for every hair, wrinkle, scar, bump, and blemish
of the skin around your navel.
I want you to crave my caress,
when we’re in the car driving to nowhere,
when we’re in line at Publix, buying the essentials
because sometimes we just forget to eat,
and when I take you to church and my fingers
sneakily draw your profile on the inside of your palm.
I want to text you cryptic messages
and watch your face as you read them
from across the room, right before you look up
into my eyes with a question mark etched clearly
on your perfect brow, knowing all the while
I want to whisper my secrets to you
while I memorize your smell, lying so close
that I can feel your heartbeat bleeding into mine.
It’s not enough to have you when I can anymore.
It’s not enough for me to make myself forget
for just a moment, just one fucking moment
that you’ll go home eventually
and our little paradise will fade to black
and I’ll wake up shaken and sweating bullets.
I want you, I want this, and yet again I want you.
I want this to be our tomorrow. I want to be
your yesterday, and I want to be your forever,
and if I can, I’ll trade you right now. Not right now,
notrightnownotrightnow; maybe the mantra
will cease one day, though at this point it’s
as regular as feeling my pulse behind my ears,
and I barely understand the gentle way
our fingers brush together, but I know I can’t
mistake the little hiccup situated in the pit of
my stomach when you press your lips to my forehead,
knowing deep down that I’m doomed, being absolutely
blind to right and wrong with you, god, it scares me
But not quite as much as it tends to turns me on.
So I’ll just lie here, trembling, wanting your to read this,
Knowing you never will and I don’t want really want you to.
I’m not that brave, and not that willing to take a hit, even for you.