you called me a tornado,
a natural disaster that
spun out
at the end of your fingertips
Ā
and i saw in my head
how many times iāve beenĀ
a calm ocean, a morning
where there is nothing moving
but a few birds, a warm sunday
with no responsibilities
Ā
i am a blizzard. i arrive and
leave nothing but cold behind me.
but i am also the spring thaw,
the grass below.
Ā
āgirls like that,ā you write about me
in your books and poems, āareĀ
hurricane systems, they are
sudden destruction,Ā
they come and they go.ā
Ā Ā
but if you stuck aroundĀ
and got to know girls like me
youād figure outĀ
we are more than our wild hearts andĀ
quick tongues and fire breathing,
Ā
we are leftover cake, we are the rainbow on your
birthday, we are good socks and bad movies,
we are loving, loving, loving;
a tidal wave of passion that comes without warning
but floods only with laughter, with light, with
devotion
Ā
girls like me will never be more than a quick storm
to boys like you. girls like me are good for a few months
before you start seeing our paint chip off and we stop being
so mysterious and hard to keep track of
girls like me are only fun until you see how weāre fueled
by a swirling darkness, girls like me are only worth it
until itās four in the morning and weāre awake and sobbing,
girls like me are tornadoes,Ā
Ā
on the inside, we are witches. we are strong.
we are a fury, but we areĀ
gold.
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
origamiaround
areudirty
