just a sack of organs that cares far too much what other organ sacks think of me
“This is the chemical formula for love:
dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin.
It can be easily manufactured in a lab, but overdosing on any of them can cause schizophrenia, extreme paranoia, and insanity.
Let that sink in.”
thats so fucked
- Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't
I am heaven sent,
Don’t you dare forget
WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY IN SPANISH
do u ever hear some lyrics and it feels like someone just stabbed you
In second grade, the first
poem I ever wrote got published
and my parents called me a poet.
Maybe that’s when I started to feel your name
growing like an extra tooth in the back of my mouth.
My mama taught me that an empty refrigerator
with chicken scrawl poetry taped to the door
can be full too. She taught me that being hungry
can mean different things when you fall in love.
In fifth grade, we grew plants. It was then I learned
impatience. Your skin was the leaf that never grew,
the one I was never graded on. I wrote you
and waiting synonymously since then,
thinking I was doing well, leaving space
by my pillow for a golden sticker.
I grew up with you like an assignment
I didn’t hand in on time.
One that my teachers didn’t mention,
just slipped into our desks when the lights
of the school dimmed and the laughter slept
for the night. You were nothing but a thesis
written over and over.
My college professors ask me about you.
Who are these ghosts that keep showing up in your papers?
Do they have a name?
I tell them I’m still waiting for my plants to bloom.
I tell them I’ve been waiting to grow towards the sunlight
so my limbs can afford to shrink from the shadow.
They use red pen to circle the unfinished sentences,
the ones with no punctuation for breath or
a place to go afterwards. I tell them I am still looking
for somewhere safe.
They ask me how long you’ve been around.
I don’t answer.
I tell them that I have work to do.
I tell them that love is a haunted classroom.
They look at me as if to say
“What did you expect?”
and again, more forcefully,
“What did you expect?”
I don’t have an answer.
Twelve years, and I still have nothing to say.
Adventure Time is such an important show and there’s so much to learn from it.
You watch me when I put my
say you can tell how I’m going
to say that I love you by the color I choose.
Pink is all hands.
Plum is marks on your neck and
Red is straight back and a steady voice.
For a brief moment, I wonder if
it should be this easy.
If people are allowed to know each other from the lipstick they wear
down to the way their fingers twitch
when they’re about to cry.
I can’t remember ever not loving you.
I try, but all I feel is cold tile under
my hands, and then your back.
I think about how strong humans are, yet, if I fall on my spine the wrong way,
I’ll never feel your hands on me ever again.
Today, my mouth is your favorite fruit.
I am writing you this poem to tell you
that I asked my sister if she
broke her teeth when she
fell in love.
I asked her if it was okay that it didn’t happen that way, for me.
I did not fall in love with you,
I was born on the floor.
Everything else was just remembering.
I want that sunroom. Complete with cat and bearded boy with top knot.
i love guys who wear buns is that weird