the boy outside the pizza place looked tired
and the way he smoked his cigarette wasn't seductive
it looked like he was clutching at straws to feel something
when he told me he liked my outfit
i wanted to stay, get to know him
but my mom hurried me along

i want the two of us shivering on a bare mattress in a ****** new york apartment
i want the two of us fighting over something stupid like what to listen to in the car
i want the two of us to go grocery shopping together
i want the two of us to make breakfast together without pants, singing into spatulas
holding hands at a concert
i want to see what you look like during summer- your hair loose and blowing in the wind, sunburns across your shoulders
i want to see what you look like in the winter- bundled in baggy sweaters and hunched shoulders
i want to see what you look like 5 years from now

Oh, Lac Operon, gene cluster great, you code for enzymes three,
but only if Lactose in the cell arrives to set you free.
Lac Z, Lac A, Lac Y: these genes would be expressed
yet a crafty protein from gene I keeps you so repressed.
Binding to the Operator, I’s Repressor keeps you capped.
Do not despair—Lactose saves you from this cruel Repressor trap,
for Lactose turns the Repressor off, giving you the space
to make galactosidase, transacetylase, and lactose permease.
Then Polymerase binds the Promoter, and the Lac genes have their day.
yet alas! They break down Lactose, taking your savior away.
When Lactose is gone, the Repressor binds and causes you to freeze,
so Operon, to live again, you must find more milk and cheese.

Today I am two days of unwashed hair
I am the comfort of the couch without pillows
I am the floorboards holding sunlight
I am fuzzy teeth and white lies
I am the carpet that needs vacuuming
I am my mother in the garden,
And my father working downstairs,
I am the sunburn on my chest,
Like the heart on my sleeve,
Born from foolishness instead of courage

i know i put too much meaning into things but--
you texted me first
asking how my day was
who does that without ulterior motives?
hidden intents?
unless you're a saint, you want something to do with me.
i know i give too much meaning into things
*but you texted me first

when i think to myself i want to talk to you
you could be anyone
you could be someone i haven't met yet, who i could have an instant connection with
you could be one of my friends that wouldn't know what to say
you could be my dad from wherever nothingness he is
but i think i know who i want you to be right now

being introverted actually has nothing to do with drinking tea or reading a lot
all it is? being cooler with small groups of people than large.
where the heck did people start thinking introverts were these glorified
manic pixie dream girls that lounge around all day writing poetry and drinking tea and feeling lonely?
i don't know. maybe i'm dumb or pretentious, but to me, being introverted has nothing to do with tea.