38 St. John's Street
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About: "What you share with this world is what it keeps of you."

Personal Blog     

Anonymous asked: Are you single lol? I'm shy

hello, no need to be shy. (: though i am seeing someone right now. 


dreams of tattooed limbs and hipbones
lower backs and sides and chests i’ve never seen
but have imagined i pressed my lips against your skin
as though i could reach the ink within
i want to be marked by you now, tonight, forever
the memory of us together etched permanently
as though we could forget 
i will remember you until you are a part of me
full body color please, close your eyes and breathe


i watch porn at my most lonely
my most sad and it’s bad
they are not lying when they say that lesbian porn
is not made for women but i watch it because it is easier
to place myself inside of it easier to imagine that hand
with the too long nails trailing against my skin pushing its way in
than it is to imagine myself in an abc family movie
a lost girl finding herself in the arms of a just cute enough boy
i gave up seeing myself in those movies long ago when the arms
of a love sick boy just made me sick and now
i am not saying that no girl wants me but the truth is
i still go to bed alone i still cuddle my stuffed animals and wish
for release i never thought i’d grow tired of my vibrator
i haven’t had to charge it in months because even when i use it
i don’t ask for much it’s not a very good replacement
for a woman’s touch but i don’t ask for much
if i’m shaking when i pull my covers back up it’s because
i don’t ask for much and its never been enough


when i haven’t eaten all day
i can feel hunger in the space beneath my ears
i don’t know why that particular spot echoes the hollow of my stomach
but it’s distracting not quite as easily ignored or forgotten
as the rumbles within me this thing that i’m doing 
it is not a punishment but it’s not unconscious it’s not for attention
and it’s not in spite of the scale in my mother’s bathroom
it just happens and on the half days or whole days or more days
when food stops being a priority i try to reason why
pinpoint the moment when three meals a day
didn’t seem ludicrous or far fetched it’s been a while
not since private schools and car pools and a row of homemade lunches
and it’s not like i don’t like food- i love food
i love to cook and bake and make new foods for good friends
old recipes for family dinners i don’t get it
and no amount of soul searching has made it clear
tell me if you figure it out let me in on the secrets of ordered eating
the true meaning of my selective needing
i am tired of flirting with self destruction 
but i don’t know how to say goodbye

top drawer

when i get dressed in the morning
i make sure to wear nice underwear
because someone once told me never to wear anything
you’d be embarrassed to die in
when i am driving to work i wonder how fast
i would have to drive into that pole for it not to hurt
when someone compliments me on my outfit i say thank you
and do not tell them why i am dressed up
i do not tell them it was for my potential pathologist
for my future lover to undress me on a cold table
impending autopsy is not an acceptable response
i am not suicidal
but when i am in big crowds i look around
and wonder how many people would attend my funeral
when i kill bugs i wonder if they had a family
when my computer tells me its battery is low
i refuse to plug it in and close my eyes when the screen goes black
instead of therapy i buy myself new underwear
and take the bus 


my mother’s favorite flower is a gardenia
and when i go to coffee shops i position myself
next to a window so you know i am here
my father missed a family event because he promised
not to drink around us anymore and
when i am sad at night i think about a boy
and a couch and waking up alone
we are made of pieces and fall to pieces
and we are not puzzles
we are not falling monuments once dedicated to great gods
we are dusty windowsills, empty rolls of toilet paper
the last flower on a dying bush
calm your crumbling heart and enjoy decay
this is your last, your only, chance to say


it is not your words that hurt me it is
your silence it is waiting
for words that will never come
on a call that you already ended
you never stay long enough for goodbye 
to hear me cry
i don’t know which is worse
to have you here but not with me
or to realize you were never there
at all 


i hate feeling fragile like
my bones will break under my weight
like my own breathing will suffocate me
i am in one moment too large and
too small for this skin
my eyes burn as though my tears
are laced with the acidity of my scathing thoughts
i am my harshest critic
my strongest spotlight and i can only shiver in the glare
i was made too delicate to be this strong

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