whatever

go cry me an ocean and leave me be

[oizumi-deactivated20191118]

me: *opens messages* guess i’ll reply later narrator: she didnt

[griffys]

What's wrong with grandpa??

he lied in bed for thirty years or whatever the fuck. while his daughter struggled to put food on the table. but then!!!! ohhh then! charlie gets a golden ticket and all the sudden that jackalope is hopping around the shack like he’s fuckin simone biles. i hate him i hate that free loader i hope he busts a hip and falls into the chocolate river

[unrar]

A child smiles in between bites of hot noodles, Taiwan, Frank and Helen Schreider.

[sos10019975x]

im so happy 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

[inkskinned]

r.i.d

[inkskinned]

you open up your palm and inside is ugly so you close them again, quickly, before you see the things you let go of.   today you’re thinking about people you lost touch with. some of them you’re not sad to see go. it’s her birthday today. maybe you should leave a note. remember that one time you tortured me for sport?   but then some of them swell up inside you because you know it’s your fault. what, are you supposed to saunter back into their lives after so many months? just tip your hat and say i know you’re happy but what if i came around again   you let them go because it’s better if you don’t call them up. if you don’t make things awkward. if you don’t act like you know who they are or what they’ve done. it’s better you give them space, right. better you sail off on your own.    oh, her engagement looks gorgeous. you send her a note. it’s a very forced conversation. nothing flows. okay. okay.    you look down at your palm. it’s time to let go.

[inkskinned]

you were picking blackberries and her lips were stained and you couldn’t stop staring. she kept reaching to cover her mouth. “is something in my teeth?” she kept asking, and you kept just saying, no, no, no, i promise.

right now the two of you are dancing around a something-that’s-not-nothing and it swells up between you, too vague to know the shape of it yet. how do you tell her without scaring her off that she takes up a whole house in your head.

you’re scared of the might-be might-be because what if this is the moment and you miss it but worse what if it’s not the moment and you mess it all up, so you watch her and you pick blackberries and you don’t say, holy shit you’re goregous

[inkskinned]

there was only hunger around her, like she was a cliffedge, like vertigo was on her leash. there is the tide, and where it comes in, and how burying hands in her hair feels inevitable, relentless. the minute you touch her, it all seems to pull in, and in, the empty beach before a tidal wave, the magic of a girl whose smile you would kill for, the magic of a girl’s jaw, tilting up, that half-surprised grin, leaning into you, and the sound at the back of her throat, and her warmth, and how, no matter how many times you kiss her, it feels like this, like falling out of a plane, like an overheated engine, like a cup you can’t reach the bottom of, that unsatable need that devours, that yearns for more, and more, and more, so that even when you are full of her, and she is all, when it is your lips and your teeth and your palms are flush with each other - still that hunger, that expansion, that need of her, over and over and over - just as you think maybe, maybe, you’ve come to the horizon and tied it around your pinky, she laughs or she turns or the sun hits her sleeping face, and you know: this is chasing the end of a rainbow. and god. how good it feels, this love of her. your girl of gold.

[inkskinned]

it’s tuesday and we’re drunk anyway and our ankles are in the pond and my back is flat against the dock and you are looking down at me while i tell you sad things. i close my eyes and spill out secrets because once they rise in me i can’t stop them until they bubble past my teeth.

“it happened,” i say, “and then it kept happening.” i find a laugh in my chest where i know there shouldn’t be. sometimes i pretend i’m an anchor because there’s a difference between sinking and drowning. i peek one eye open to you, where you’re frowning.

you don’t say anything. i worry i’ve gone too far. told you too much, and now you’ll see i’m a project and you’ll leave. you’ll untie the boat. you’ll leave me stranded in the storm. all that cliche shit everybody writes about but hurts worse than words know. because people leave, and leave, and leave, you know?

“it’s good!” i blurt, because i can’t stand the silence, i sit up quickly, i splash my feet, i pull funny like a blanket up and around me, “shit happens. what doesn’t kill me made me a bitch on wheels.” and shit happens. it happens until it crawls down your throat and just when it would be better to die, you get a breath in instead of choke. shit happens and you wake up and it happens and you go to sleep and it feels like the same shit, all grey and ugly and the underbelly of the beast, shit happens but you can’t talk about it because otherwise, people know, and you can’t show other people you’re weak.

but you’re not laughing. i ruined whatever we have. your lips twist to the side. i try untalking, unmaking the mistake, coiling back up all the useless garbage about my dumb life which isn’t even that bad, i’m just whiny. “i’m good now,” i say, “i’m okay,” i say, “it sucked at the time but now im fine,” and i say it, because the lie feels right, but i hate the way your face looks, like you’re trying to see under my skin, like now that you know you can’t un-know. like you’ve solved the problem and the equation reveals that i’m a piece of shit.

“i’m sorry,” you say instead. “that shouldn’t have happened.”

i bark a laugh, try to talk, but you shake your head. cut me off. “no,” you say, “i’m here if you ever want to talk.” you keep searching with those wide eyes so i gotta look anywhere else, anywhere else, down to the fish and the water, down and down, away from the only thing i haven’t figured out how to laugh about, away from the glow of you and the warmth that radiates now, away from this terrible truth you’re weaving between us, “i love you,” you say, “i’m glad it didn’t kill you but it shouldn’t have happened that way.”

oh no. oh god. oh god, wouldn’t it have just been easier if you had waved it all off. can’t we just make a joke and move along. oh god, oh no, not this, not love. i can’t handle it. i’m not strong enough.

“i love you,” you repeat while i’m stifling a sob. you put one hand out on my shoulder. i want to cut my own hands off. “what happened to you,” you say, and it sounds like an alarm, “was terrible, and you didn’t deserve it, and it was entirely wrong.”

i don’t know how to handle this. i don’t know where to go if you’re telling me i don’t deserve it when the crumbling hits. i don’t know what to do but buckle down and survive it. because what comes next if you’re right. what if you don’t leave my side. what if i wake up one day and shit happened again just as it started to all go right. what if i wake up and the truth is that i did nothing to deserve this shitty old life.

“it’s okay,” you say. “you’re going to be alright.”

[inkskinned]

you looked at me and in the middle of the night asked me “what would you say if you knew the truth couldn’t hurt you” and i hated the answer that came over me. i couldn’t tell you. you’d just leave. 

[inkskinned]

there are all kinds of aware. the aware of 2 AM when you’re both half-asleep on the floor and your heart is up and the aware of 5 AM when you haven’t slept the night before and your guard is all you are. the aware of a sore tooth that makes small things on tongues feel big and the aware of first-food-since-i-forget that makes big things taste better.

aware, be/ware, the aware of halloween nights where the back of your skin crawls with again-witch, the aware of the first snowfall you watch alone, the aware of a paper cut, the aware of knowing the cat is in the room but it doesn’t like to be pet so you just have to watch it. the aware of pen lights, of fridays, of cracked ribs. the aware of i hurt you once, i won’t do it again. the aware of first time holding hands, the aware of nine hundredth circle on her spine, the aware of spotted zoo animal and the aware of an open blue sky.

“how does she make you feel?” you ask.

aware, i guess. aware so much i feel alive.

[inkskinned]

i’ve got the same three songs stuck in my head for the past week. i don’t even like two of them. i binge watch a tv show i don’t enjoy but doesn’t encourage me to think, even though i promised i’d watch that 12-part documentary. i drink too much and you jokingly ask me “why are you like this”. the truth is i also don’t know why i’m like this. i’d rather be paying my rent on time instead of asking for constant extensions. i’d rather have finished that book or that project. i’d rather just listen to a new song and get the rest out of my head.

i don’t know why. i just can’t.

[inkskinned]

“Even angry she was beautiful”. Even tired. Even sick. Even one crazy night later. Even with two broken ribs. Even, even, even.

An eye hangs in front of me. Always watching. How silly for me to care about being pretty. But I care about being pretty.

Do men feel like this? Even alone sometimes I catch myself fixing, tidying. I cross windows no one can see in and I worry that someone will see in. I lock the bathroom door and have strange, unlikely thoughts about people who will sneak in and rip the curtain off the rod and see me naked. Sometimes, in the worst moments, I wonder: what if there’s a camera and people are seeing this ugliness.

My mother taught me to plan underwear in such a way that if they found your body you wouldn’t be embarrassed. It seems insane until you watch six seconds of television; where our dead bodies are almost always mostly naked, even beautiful in death. I worry I will die in an unflattering position.

“Who cares what they think?” I ask myself. I don’t even want the attention of men. Dressing for the attention of men on a daily basis is a dangerous thing and isn’t sustainable on the metro system. I want the attention of other women.

But I still look in the mirror and adjust things. I do this and don’t think about men. I wear makeup and it’s not for men. I sit pretty in traffic and it’s not for men. This eye, I guess. The “them”. It never blinks. Maybe I am the one who is watching.

The woman in the comic book has been kidnapped and tortured. We zoom in on her lips. Beautiful. Even then.

[inkskinned]

that kind of love that’s “i was scared until i found you.” that kind of love that’s worth it to try romance again. the “fuck i’ll try cheesy if it just makes you smile” love, the roses and love notes and wine bottles. the twinkle light love, the “let’s go on this romantic date only to spend the whole thing being silly” love, the dancing badly to slow songs love, the “i don’t know how you make me laugh so much but seriously stop it i’m trying to drive” love. the “i trust you love,” calling late at night because a secret just welled up in my throat love, the first person i talk to so i can figure out this decision is you kind of love. the “i was hurt before and had given up but then i found you” love, the incredulous in-awe love, the wonder love, the are you actually real or am i dreaming you love. the “i didn’t believe in soulmates before you” love. that kinda love.

[sos10019975x]

❤️

[sos10019975x]

no matter what you say i wont love you less

ill be lying if i said i do

[cutespoonie]

the two bad fatigue moods:

gets super emotional, cries over the smallest things, empathetic™, can’t handle anything, irritable, overstimulated™, anxious

can’t feel anything, barely able to think, apathic™, can’t relate to anything, emptiness™, can’t cry, slow™, dissociating

[imsoofuckingsad-deactivated2018]

i think i just need to accept the fact that i get sad at night regardless of how my day went lmao