[anacademic]

tomorrow will hurt less and ache more

[anacademicsubject]

Sometimes I think I have given up all of my uniqueness and bite to be some uptight fuck who goes to school for business and won’t shut up about their exotic travels.

I have opinions on coffee and wine and church sermons now and I am so normal, maybe not for seventeen, but in the grand scheme of it all, my hair is not pink anymore, I haven’t screamed at anyone in a year and I have given up the extraordinary for the ordinary in hopes that it will hurt less.

[anacademicsubject]

what do you mean I’m going to get to tell my children that I had an ex-boyfriend try to follow me to France?

[anacademicsubject]

“I asked chatgpt for suggestions” ok well I asked my psychic ex-girlfriend and she said that you die february 7th, 2033

[anacademicsubject]

Like with everything, they love your radical equality until you get too radical

Like, no one blinks when I say that every human is worth the same amount. And most people won’t think it weird that I value a tree as much as I do a mountain- But then I say that every secret is worth the same, a child’s secret that they hid their crayons behind the couch is the same as high level government secrets, the destruction of a career is the same as the destruction of a life, a song ending is a bus stop, and an album ending is the bus turning in for the night. Everything has the same fucking value. Everything.

[anacademicsubject]

imagine everything you want in the world, imagine how satisfaction will taste on your tongue when you get it, and that is your purpose

Can I reach out and touch it?

/No. no you must stand here and look at it. Stare at it. Memorize every detail till you could tell me how many freckles the woman on the cover of the magazine you had lying out on your coffee table had. Stare at it till it’s all you see, even when your eyes are closed, an impression of everything you want burned permanently into your gaze. Do you want it more now? Does it make you sick that you don’t have it? I don’t think you want it enough. Would you rather die then keep staring at it till the time you can taste it has past? If I give it to you, if I let you reach for it, you must savor every fucking detail, just like you imagine it now./

I don’t know

[anacademicsubject]

You still love him, don’t you?

/Yes. No. Possibly, sometimes, on Mondays, but it fades by Friday. When I’m cold and when I’m tired, but not when I’m sick. When I’m waiting for someone to come in and understand whatever it is that I am unable to say in a language I can speak. When I need someone to come in and undress my expectations to expose them for what they are; doubt. I don’t love him when I explain every detail beyond his naivety, or when I need send reminders in the form of houseplants and light ire to say that life is bigger and less important than what he can see. When we repeat our usual nighttime script of lighthearted apologies and promises peppered with regret I know I love him. But it is Monday, and it’ll fade again/

I don’t know.

I think you should talk to him

[anacademicsubject]

So, I’ve fallen in love again

With who?

/with the same thing as last time, I don’t say/

/with a poet on the internet, I print out poems and tack them to my wall, utter their nom de plume in my prayers, I can’t read their poems to anyone, can’t send them to anyone, their words more intimate to me than breath on the back of my neck, and hands that ghost across my waist, more intimate leaving my bra on someone’s bedpost, more intimate than feet on cold kitchen tile and a too big t-shirt, so I just keep those words in my head bouncing like an idle computer screen and when they hit the corner of the screen I get to wish my words would ache the way theirs do./

With life, again

Can you teach me how?

[anacademicsubject]

Who is the most ‘overachiever’ coded person in early morning advanced highschool orchestra; the singular upright bass player or the first violin who just missed out on first chair?