lipstick kiss

 ❛ on the window, and dare the police to match the dna ❜ JUNE/AMELIA. THEY/XE. SAPPHIC BRAINROT.  

[junecapulet]

wordsbymills —> junecapulet

sorry for not winning you an arcade ring / if you would have been the 1

— amelia/june, they/xe, biroace, italian american

— sapphic poetry enthusiast and over-dramatic metaphor collector. 

— header/icon cred. full bio poem. 

everything here is the fault of my tired brain and proximity to a pencil. enjoy <3

[itsbaditsgood]

image ID is in alt text and under the cut

the final page is

far too sad for my poor mind

i will not read it

[itsbaditsgood]

transcript under the cut and in alt text

i sat by the lake last week and i offered my mother

a slice of my orange, and she said no

and i felt so lonely that i pretended i was two people

so i’d have someone to share with

[itsbaditsgood]

kanej x peace by taylor swift

I never had the courage of my convictions / As long as danger is near / And it's just around the corner, darling / Cause it lives in me / he nodded to her right forearm, not trusting himself to speak. his gloved lay on the other side of the basin, black against the gold-veined marble. they looked like dead animals. he focused on the shears, cold metal in his hands, nothing like skin. he could not do this if his hands were shaking. i can best this, he told himself. it was no different than drawing a weapon on someone. violence was easy.

No, I could never give you peace / “If it were a trick, I'd promise you safety. I'd offer you happiness. I don't know if that exists in the Barrel, but you'll find none of it with me."

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm / Her heart felt too full, a dry creek bed ill-prepared for such rain.The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible. / She'd laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have.

If your cascade ocean wave blues come / “and what’s your [tell]?” kaz thought of the moment on vellgeluk that had nearly cost him everything.

All these people think love's for show / But I would die for you in secret / She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me / Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? / so he wasn’t fit for a normal life. was she meant to find a kindhearted husband, have his children, then sharpen her knives after they’d gone to sleep? how would she explain the nightmares she still had from the Menagerie? or the blood on her hands?

Your integrity makes me seem small / it hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms. it isn’t easy for me either. after all she had endured, he was the weak one

I talk shit with my friends / It's like I'm wasting your honor / “i’m a very valuable investment.” “tell me he didn’t say that?” “of course he did. well, not the valuable part.” “idiot.”

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences / Sit with you in the trenches / i would come for you, and if i couldn’t walk, i’d crawl to you. and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. because that’s what we do. we never stop fighting.

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other / He had carried her, fought beside her, spent whole nights next to her, both of them on their bellies, peering through a long glass, watching some warehouse or merch’s mansion.

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother / crows remember human faces.  they remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west / I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best / “brick by brick,” he said. then he gave a single shake of his head, as if shrugging off the notion. “i wasn’t made to be a hero, Wraith. you should have learned that by now. you want me to be the better man, a good man.”

But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me / “i don’t want you beholden to per haskell or me.” another half-truth. his mind had concocted a hundred schemes to bind her to him, to keep her in this city. but she’d spent enough of her life caged by debts and obligations, and it would be better for them both when she was gone.

[itsbaditsgood]

🎡 mwah <33

send me a 🎡 and i’ll write something for you

transcript under the cut

it’s a lopsided sugar cookie that gets me

in the end

standing in a box store bakery too late at night

it’s morning

you’d like it i think, with the three eyes and lumps

so i reach across the counter and take it

because fuck capitalism

we become the discounts we want to see in the world

99% off

i leave a lipstick kiss on the window and dare the police to match the dna

because it’s a cookie, and i’ve already left the country by the time they find my crime

[itsbaditsgood]

🎡?

send me a 🎡 and i’ll write you a poem

transcript under the cut <3

you’re dreaming of soft love, aren’t you?

you deem yourself broken and bloody,

but you’re a delicate blade

forged stronger and lovelier than you can see right now

the blade doesn’t know when it kills,

or when it catches someone’s eye

[itsbaditsgood]

transcript under the cut

i kissed you and i tasted blood on your tongue

yours and mine from where you bit my lip and

when i punched your teeth.

my knuckles are scraped up and your cheek is busted.

i think it’s a little funny that i hate you as a pin your arms

to the brick wall and knock out your mind and steal your breath.

[junecapulet]

[junecapulet]

transcript under the cut

you look like a renaissance painting in the grass,

and you have two freckles on the shell of your right ear.

i want to paint small flowers on our hands,

and maybe brush your hair away from your face, feel its softness.

don’t mind my soft fantasies, i’m living in a playwright's world

[junecapulet]

transcript under the cut

my love, my love my love, my beloathed, beautiful, fanciful rival. you make me want to compete with my feelings until they stop feeling. fuck you, truly, for casting some sort of tantalising pull on yourself. i know you are to be loathed; i know you do not possess one quality i could grow fond of.

perhaps it is merely the thought of destroying your reputation that seduces my mind.

call me back when your insides make the acquaintance of embarrassment,

or if you’re ready to grow up and beat me at a game of kisses instead of childish word games.

[itsbaditsgood]

transcript under the cut:

to the girl with the lilac tree aura and the silky black hair —

i’d write you grand things, but the pencil moving across the page is meant for small joys and records of time and slowly slipping sanity. i have grand stories of girls sliding knives up their sleeves, of wars won and lost. i have stories they’ve written epics about. we can hear them from someone else.

but i bet nobody else can tell you of orange peels curled in bowls, or the right way to eat eggs or to bake bread ( i’ll annotate recipes like nobody else does ) or the crazy fucking storm in my head, that’ll lay down and curl up like a cat, it’ll let you stroke it like a fucking cat in front of a fireplace on a cold night because i want someone to hold me, dammit.

and if you’ll listen to my common tales about dogs and butterflies and curling orange peels, and learn the right way to eat an eggs, and read my crazy sprawling notes in the margins of recipes, you’re stroking the crazy storm cat and wrapping a blanket around our shoulders

and you make me feel warm enough to ask you whether you’d like to make cookies with me or listen to another tale, this one about my failings at making origami cranes,

or if next time you want to meet my cats or dance in the rain, because we think of the same song when the downpour hits, and i like sitting with you here, in the sun.

would you like some more lemonade? i think we have some more inside. the bread’s almost done. it looks like it’s going to rain, and the cats need to be held for a while. would you like to come in?

[junecapulet]

transcript under the cut

mon cheri,

that means my darling. you know that, of course. you know i call you that in my head, know you respond with sweetheart in the same sweet fantasy. i made you a mixtape, darling, and i know you hear the melodies but never the words. do you know that you kiss the sunlight on my jaw, when i think of us? do you think you could love the scrape of my nails on your scalp? i’d write you a love song if the words would flow, i’d write a thousand pretty verses. we’d fall asleep to their melodies and wake up in the sunshine on the quilt, our clothes tangled in the sheets. maybe i’d let my cat sleep on my discarded flannel, the same one i’d let you borrow if you so desired. you could feel my heart beating under the cotton and flax of my shirt, if you pressed your hand to my chest. take apart my arteries with your calloused fingers; i could feel your fingertips graze my emotions. you would stitch me back up with your guitar strings, wrap me in threads like a bracelet on my chest. how poetic it is to dream of love; how sad to fall from a fantasy you never knew was real.

sometimes i wish we hadn’t lost the practice of love letters. i could be a soldier, writing to his love from the battlefields. you could be a prince or a congressman drafting lines and longing for peace. how nice it would be, to start letters ‘my dearest.’ historians could ponder the nature of our relationship, far in the future. ‘it was the style of writing in their time,’ they would say. how lovely i think it would be to find love letters in friendly corespondents, if never in your eyes.

forever is too often a lie; but i am forever yours, in mind if not in body. treat it how you please; i know you are too gentle to harm me.

[junecapulet]

[junecapulet]

[junecapulet]

[junecapulet]

[junecapulet]

— beyond the castle, amelia quinn 2021