I. Its The Morning After, And In The Elevator, You Almost Tell A Stranger The Whole Thing. Ii. Her Eyes

“i. it’s the morning after, and in the elevator, you almost tell a stranger the whole thing. ii. her eyes turn colors in the sunlight and leave inksplot thumbprints somewhere inside your solar plexus. iii. mostly, you wrote poetry about meeting somebody like her, about what she would taste like, how her hands would feel against your face, how her hips would rock and how that little pink mouth would let out a little pink moan that would linger in the air like a perfume. iv. sometimes, you wrote poetry about death. v. sometimes, you wrote poetry about meeting death, about what he would taste like, how his fingers would feel against his face, how your mother never cared anyway, how boys like you with their red raw mouths never let the sadness out but rather champ it in a silver bit in the rusty back of your throat. vi. in summer thirst, your words dry up around her. you have never been able to hold her. you want to ask her about the universe, about the new pictures of pluto, about her family, about whether she prefers coffee or tea. you want to spill out your river secrets into her sea. vii. her eyes, man. her eyes, and how they glow. her eyes, man, and how you’ll never get this trainwreck body to come up close. viii. last night, after four shots, and with shaking hands, you finally convinced yourself to unpeel flowerpetal limbs from the far wall and walk over and confess it all ix. last night, before you got far, she kissed someone better than you, who writes poems about roses and stardust and ribcages and veins and reads Bukowski on saturdays. last night, you walked away. x. it’s the morning after, and in the elevator, you almost tell a stranger everything. you watch your reflection in the doors as they open. you tear in two and bite down and say nothing.”

— boy howdy that hurt // r.i.d

every time I think about my gender I get confused so I simply stopped thinking about it. it is not my problem

theres too many pokemon games where you play as a kid whos full of life and full of potential. there needs to be a pokemon game where you play as a college dropout who lives in a shitty apartment

As an adult you must cultivate the skill of “Gross! Oh, well. Not my business.”

she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”

HELPPP WHY WOULD THE INTERVIEWER ASK THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE 💀💀💀