wallow in self love

currently hyperfixating on baking cakes and falling in love with writing again

[xshoss]

Longing for the kind of setback that warrants this sadness

[xshoss]

Sometimes I worry that the world makes me a different person.

But then I find myself in a bar, and hear my own laugh. I listen to my jokes, I feel the twinkle in my eyes. I listen to my favourite music, and see my foot tapping at the rhythm. I move, I fly, I dream, I worry, I cry and dance and understand. This is how it’s always been. This is how I’ve always been.

Sometimes I worry that the world makes me a different person. But then, but then, but then.

[xshoss]

Never be nice to a strange man

Never be nice to a strange man. It never ends there. You are nice, you ask him about his job, his house, his family. He will have an interesting story, and you think “this is not so bad. He has an interesting story. I can learn something new from this nice strange man.” And you think that’s it. You’ll part ways as friendly strangers, and you’ll have learned something interesting. But it never ends there.

As you get off the metro, the unavoidable question comes. “Can i have your number?” You don’t want to give out your number to this nice strange man. But he’s so nice, and maybe he wants to remember the interesting conversation. So you give him your instagram. After all, is he really that strange now?

He takes it as an opportunity to be nice to you some more. Calls you beautiful. Asks if you’re going home. Says he’d like to see you again. This time, he doesn’t feel like a nice man. Just strange.

So then you’re home, and you roll your eyes as the strange man tries to instagram-call you. And you think “it could have gone much worse. He could have ended up with my number in his phone or my blood on his face.”

And you think how being nice to a strange man never ends well, because it never ends there. It never ends.

[xshoss]

When I sit on my balcony I’d like to imagine the photons in the sun rays being glad they landed on my face instead of on the concrete behind me, because I appreciate their warmth more than buildings ever can

[xshoss]

I can’t hide my humanity if I tried.

Losing my train of thought mid-sentence. Accidentally snorting my tea because I had to laugh. Dropping things in the middle of a busy street. Not knowing the way and looking around like an idiot. I love it all, seeing people stare at me when things go wrong. They will laugh. But it will be a good laugh, because at that moment they see themselves.

And I will look up, and give them a quick smile, and they will smile back, and the smile says: I know you. We are made the same. Thank you for reminding me.

And then we will go on our ways, carrying a piece of each other throughout the day, and forgetting about it the next morning and doing it all again with another stranger.

[xshoss]

me arguing with people who say florbsnorb isn’t a word: language is a man-made construct. it is everchanging and that is its magic. every word that ever existed has been made up so i decided florbsnorb exists from now on and nobody can stop me

me correcting someone’s grammar mistake: you stupid fucking moron. you literal imbecile. language is rigid, stale, with Rules that Cannot Be Changed. NO possibility for revision whatsoever. please borrow my grandma’s dictionary and educate yourself

[inkskinned]

i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.

[xshoss]

There was a girl standing in front of me at the toilets and she had 2 pigtails. But there were a couple hairs from the one pigtail stuck in the other, to make a sort of bridge. And i couldn’t figure out which pigtail the hairs originally stemmed from, and it reminded me of the chicken and the egg,

and then it hit me that if i can get close to god on a music festival, maybe happiness too can someday feel divine.

[dct239394cvvd098dffgggp]

no one tells you this when youre a kid but balconies are a liminal space more than any ai generated fakeplace with twilight movie filter and yellow tiles in it lol. youre somewhere between the ground and the firmament youre inside your house but outside of it you hear whats going on both in your house and the street you walked through a window and you didnt fall. europe did two things right and balconies came a close third

[xshoss]

Grandma’s soup

I am made by my grandma;

strong hands crumble the stock over the boiling water, a seasoned nose smells the fumes.

She stirs me until I'm finished

like she's done a thousand times.

My family tastes me and tells grandma

she used too much salt on me.

But at the end of dinner every bowl is scraped clean.

Grandma did her best to make me.

I know she did.

[plumslices]

It matters because I gave it meaning bitch

[stevebucky-deactivated20221119]

<3

[meezer]

women don't want me, fish don't fear me. I pass through life like a smooth stone, making no impression on the thin parchment that is fate.

[winedark-maverick]

i love you green. i love you forests. i love you smell of damp earth. i love you feeling before the storm breaks. i love you moss. i love you rivers. i love you streams. i love you thunderstorms. i love you sunlight shining through leaves.

[aliaoftheknives]

I must not cringe. Cringe is the mind-killer. Cringe is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my cringe. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. When the cringe has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. 

[bottlecap-press]

New Adult, by Sidney Wollmuth

Poetry, chapbook, 40 pages, from Bottlecap Features. What happens when all your firsts happen after high school? New Adult explores a life d

From Sidney Wollmuth's chapbook, New Adult, available from Bottlecap Press!

[bottlecap-press]

From Sarah Robbins’ chapbook, Hopeless Tomato, available at https://bottlecap.press/products/hopeless-tomato-by-sarah-robbins