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16.7k · Jan 2015
to feel or not to feel
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
Sad because you feel too much
Or mad because you can't feel a thing.
Greener grass beckons,
And you wave to it longingly.

Love the rise,
Hate the fall.
Melodramatic monotone of monotony.
Perishable Plateau.
Whisk me away into infinity.

Dead on arrival.
Dead to the world.
Dead as a doornail.

Stuff me back inside my body
Like clothes in a suitcase.
I fit. I promise.
12.9k · Feb 2014
giraffes are underrated
Circa 1994 Feb 2014
One of my favorite animals is a giraffe.
They're so awkward and lanky,
yet despite their strange appearance
there is a a grace in there gallivant;
there is a beauty to their mien.

They don't flaunt their attributes
or covet the patterns of their wildlife peers
because they have been graced with the privilege
to indulge in the secrets whispered by the leaves
amongst the tree tops.
9.6k · Sep 2014
bored restless
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
And I get so restless
I just can't stress this,
Boredom bathed in the waters of monotony.
I dare you,
Call my ******* bluff.
5.3k · Jan 2013
describing the undescribable
Circa 1994 Jan 2013
It’s the way colors would taste if you could eat them. White would taste of contentment, yellow of happiness, purple of infatuation, red of passion, and pink would taste of endearment. Pick your poison; they’ll all be the death of you in the end.
It’s the way it smells when it first begins to rain. Its aroma lingers like vanilla, fresh linen, or an open flame that’s sparks kiss your fingertips. It clings to your clothes and in your hair to be smelled by others around you. To some, this scent may be too strong.
It sounds like complete silence amidst a roaring thunder. It’s at a frequency only you can hear and comprehend. It’s a ringing in your ears that leaves them throbbing or the echo of voices when you’re submerged in water --- starting loud and progressively fading away with the sunlight that rests on the water’s horizon.
It’s the way butterfly kisses feel, faintly tickling your cheeks when they’re damp with fresh tears. Or the way your body shudders at the touch of a cold hand and your temperature elevates, leaving a numbness where fingers traced over your skin.
It’s the way a sea of grass looks when you’re crawling on your hands and knees. It’s the sight of two hands clasped with fingers intertwined. It’s what causes your eyes to widen when you see the expression that lingers on her face when she thinks you’re not looking. The look that says all that can’t be spoken with words.
It’s all the power that lies within that four letter, one syllable word. The word that redefines every one of your five senses. ..
Love may be like a lot of things, but it’s not like falling. I never fully understood the expression “falling in love” --- probably because it isn’t accurate, and doesn’t make sense. Falling is what people do on a daily basis --- love is when someone catches you.
5.1k · Sep 2014
dear lord, im bored
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
Too much stillness
Not enough movement.
So I run long and fast.
But the time doesn't pass
Any more than it had
When I was just sitting on my ***.

**** I'm bored.
I need something to do.
A new hobby
Trying on some shoes.
Everything exciting is too far away
Too expensive.

If I could be content with my own company
And never have to rely on anybody
I think I'd be more happy.
More self sufficient
And people would need me
Instead of me needing them.
The end.
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
Today inspiration came in the form of a watermelon seed.*
I was sitting on the couch
as per usual
and eating watermelon chunks
with my fingers.
I was doing nothing else productive.
I was eating
and being ugly
in my baggy black pullover
and my green pajama pants.
I thought about
how gross I would look
if anyone were to catch me
as I chewed on a mouthful of watermelon
and tried not to choke on the seeds.
*I shamelessly licked the watermelon juice from my fingers.
4.5k · Mar 2014
conditional truths
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
No one likes the truth when it's not watered down.
Without a chaser.
When it's said too loud.

No one likes good news with a dose of bad.
Keep your honesty to yourself.
4.1k · Jul 2014
words on words on words
Circa 1994 Jul 2014
I love words and
I love metaphors.
I love the muse that inspires the words
and how flawlessly these words form metaphors.

I love deciding how people perceive me.
Even I am beautiful when painted metaphorically.
4.0k · May 2014
satisfactory pee
Circa 1994 May 2014
Not many things are as satisfying
As peeing when you're drunk.
What a rush.

I always realize how lightheaded I am
And that makes me laugh.

Then it's back to the kitchen to replenish
My body's alcohol supply.
Circa 1994 Jun 2014
I add a poem because I feel a should
because I want to
because I can.

But sometimes I shouldn't
Sometimes like now
when my words don't add anything but instead take away.

So really this poem is selfish.
This poem is being spit on by a best friend
or being stood up by a blind date.

You'll forget it
because you have better things to do.
Like joining a cause
or giving to a charity
or liking an inspirational post on Facebook.

While I'm writing selfish poems
you're winning humanitarian of the year...
No, really.
3.8k · Sep 2014
curly sue gets proposed to
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
Whirly twirly dandelion.
Whafty whafty breeze.
Happy sappy baby face.
He's down on a knee.

Don't ***** this up.
Make her smile.
And if you're feeling brave
Ask her to stay a while.

And she will cause she loves you
But then you'll leave cause that's what boys do
To pretty girls
With pinwheel curls
On a windy afternoon.
3.7k · Oct 2013
nudity encouraged
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
Wearing clothing seems unnatural when we're together.
I'm drawn to you like a magnet.
You tell me I'm pretty
And laugh at how awful I am at accepting compliments.
I promise to leave before you wake up.
3.3k · Feb 2014
page turner
Circa 1994 Feb 2014
If I were a book,
what would my cover lead you to believe?

Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky.
Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase.
Purple hair - craving attention.
Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward.
Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy
Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy.

Maybe your assumptions are right.
But you'll never know until you read the book.
Circa 1994 Sep 2013
he was philosophical
the way any person is when they're high.

he wore black framed glasses
and talked too much;
which i kind of liked.
he said my name made me sound like a classy stripper.
i chose to take it as a compliment.

i didn't ask his age
though i wish i had.

he talked passionately about
aquatonics and molly.
he said he was starting up a business.

maybe i was flattered that he thought i was cute
or maybe he was generally interesting.
i'm not sure though.
all i can remember is the way the hookah tasted
as the music faded out.
2.7k · Aug 2014
beauty soaked bones
Circa 1994 Aug 2014
Maybe beauty can run deeper than my skin
Because my skin is quite thin in the first place.
2.7k · Nov 2014
ongoing argument
Circa 1994 Nov 2014
we're one big argument that's never going to stop.
Bottled up hurts.

When did we get so good at this?
Causing each other pain.

When did the distance
Start pushing us apart?

When did silence start to feel more comfortable than talking?
I used to not question if the pleasure outweighed the discomfort.
Activate the distress signal.
2.5k · Jan 2015
hoping not to be doubtful
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
I can never seem to hold you
For very long.

But I kiss my fingertips after you're gone.
Maybe someday you'll stay awhile
And do the kissing for me.
2.4k · Feb 2015
Circa 1994 Feb 2015
**** I'm annoyed.
At everything.
At every one.
At you.
Those things you said
Get stuck in my head
And poison my precious
Peace of mind.
It's fine.
And every one.
And me.
At least I will be
Sometime soon.
2.2k · Apr 2015
Circa 1994 Apr 2015
i know a boy
a boy that thinks about a girl,
a girl that seldom thinks of him.
only when it's convenient.
only when it feels good.
only when it's late.
and no one else is around.
2.2k · Jan 2013
Garden of Forget-me-nots
Circa 1994 Jan 2013
He talks to me through the radio,
Crooning out my name
To a catchy tune.
It’s stuck in my head.
I welcome the torture.
Your forecast predicts
Rain clouds and harsh winds.
I’ll pretend it’s spring
And the sky is sunny.
The only rain
Will be my tears
Watering the weeds
That have overgrown in my
Quaint garden.
2.2k · Mar 2014
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
My socks are a conversation starter,
They have more to say than me.
I request a Kid Cudi song
To the kid with his laptop open to YouTube,
Pretending to be a DJ.
Someone takes a long pull on the hookah.

I discuss True Blood in the backseat of a car with a girl from Hungry.
I drink a Capri Sun.
Eat some Ritz.

My mind is sober and waiting for my body to catch up.
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
Roller derby, disco.
Bump and grind
On the dance floor.
Drink some punch,
Sip some wine.
Party, party, people.
Flirty, *****, girly girl.
Do a spin,
Flail and twirl,
Dip, but do not fall.

All of these
And many more
You're sure to learn
In a year or four.
Circa 1994 Nov 2013
I say it in a poem
because I can't say it out loud.
Because                                             I won't.
the embarrassment of your
I like to be the one
doing the
I imagine the way
your eyebrows would
furrow together.

The way
you'd find an                                   excuse
                                                        to leave.

The way
would feel.
Filling my mouth
with the coppery
taste of blood.
Sewing my mouth
shut would've been
less                                                     painful
than this.
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
make a mess of me.
peel me apart until my insides are exposed.
tell me who I am:
dumb, ****, trouble, fickle, helpless, weak, crazy, damaged, bitter, *****.
tell me who I'm not:
beautiful, independant, successful, innovative, compassionate, patient, wise.

now tell me something I don't know.
2.0k · Mar 2015
persuasive palms.
Circa 1994 Mar 2015
I lay my palm flat against my tummy. This is my body. I place my hands on the coldness of the cement wall. this is a wall. Hand on my stomach again. This is my body. This is my body. But I don't believe it. Im trying to convince myself that it's true.
2.0k · Apr 2014
party foul
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
I arrive at the party early and head straight for the kitchen.
I half and half a fruity flavored ***** and cranberry cocktail juice in my red solo cup.

It tastes bad.
I drink fast
It tastes better.
My cup is empty.
Hunch punch it is.
****** drinking games
****** music.

I go out on to the patio.
I'm greeted by a circle of hazy expressions
And red eyes.
1 hit
2 hits
3 hits

Jenga truth or dare.
lick the faces of three people
Girl that dared me - one.
Girl with purple hair - two.
Guy with buddy holly glasses - three.

Space Odyssey plays on the stereo.

I wake up fully clothed on a makeshift mattress made of couch cushions.
I'm ******* freezing.
And next weekend we'll do it all over again.
Same party
Same *****
Same music

A party's success is based on how guilty you feel the next day.
1.9k · Sep 2013
Kissing Nerds.
Circa 1994 Sep 2013
This is for the boys that don't get poems written about them.
The ones with bad acne and figurine collections.
Because one day you'll outgrow your acne
and a girl will find you charming instead of awkward.
And she'll want you to kiss her but you'll be too nervous.
But she'll be nervous too.
1.9k · Jan 2014
touching happiness
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
And that's as close as any of us get
To touching happiness...

But it's never enough to satisfy us.
Only enough to make us miserable.
1.8k · Jan 2015
cum gullet
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
She liked the way his ***
Gave her shiny, webbed fingers.
She liked to hold them up to the light
And watch the way they glistened.
A translucent filth.
She identified with this.
She aspired to be this ***** thing
That could be had,
Without being seen.

Most people swallowed her up.
But she wanted to be spit out.
1.8k · Mar 2017
Nigger hair
Circa 1994 Mar 2017
I talk white they say
Dress white
Act white they say
That's why all the black boys want me
Why the white boys wanna try and **** me
Even though colored girls aren't they're cup of tea
My light skin is a kink
The way i enunciate makes me a fetish
The last black women my daddy shared a bed with was my mother
So why my daddy gotta ask about the companions of my slumber.
I act white they say but ask me
Is my *** phat?
Do i twerk.
I dress white
But they think it's okay to ask me
If they can touch my hair
A white boy once said it reminded him im a ****** even though my skin is fair.
How many white boys gotta stick they're fingers in my roots
To find the truth.
When you say I act white
What you mean is I'm not a stereotype.
You're pretty for a black girl
Talk good
For a black girl
Snap snap hey hey girl
Let me slide in
Thick thighs girl.
You're mixed right?
No way a sister could sound
So bright.
Tell me about your origins miss thang.
Let me put them other boys to shame,
I can buy you top shelf,
Get your rent paid
Better than the boy you wifed up to.
Lil shawty you should smile more,
It's a compliment ****
Stuck up *****.
Do i act too white
Cause I'll never start a fight
Is it white to get a degree
And make my own money.
Touch my hair if you forgot
White is not synonymous with superior
Cause amanda does squats to get an *** like ruwanda.
Remember i got a college dregree
Before you say some ignorant **** to me
Act White?
How dare you
Assume my character
Is defined by a color.
1.8k · Jan 2013
Circa 1994 Jan 2013
October 3, 2012 10:49pm

It’s a sensual process.
Watching him paint.
But today I’m his subject, and there’s no talking. He likes it completely silent when he works. He talks about his paints like they’re a person, his brushes – a fine wine, and his canvas – a beautiful lady. He’s the kind of person that has a mind so complex that after a five minute conversation with him you’d just assume he’s dumb, or extremely high.
He says he can taste color. Sometimes I think I’m dating an eight year old. Then my eyes roll over his body, and I remember why I put up with it. When my eyes get to his waist he makes a hand gesture, signaling me to look at him. He wanted this painting to be profile. He’s very persistent about keeping eye contact. He says that the muse is as much the artist as the painter. They’re both part of the process. I open my mouth to say something, but he puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. I scowl at him from behind wisps of my unruly curls. He smiles. He loves when I pout.
I’m wearing nothing but an oversized, tacky Bill Cosby sweater and a pair of his grey boxer-briefs. I’m sticky. I can feel the sweat dripping down my back. He’s been at it for an hour now. I’m uncomfortable, cranky, and tired. He says It’s ****. He says I look better when I’m all grungy.
The cat curls up in my lap. He looks up from his canvas and frowns. He walks over to where I am on the couch and shoos the cat away. He walks back over to his canvas. It’s so large, he can nearly hide behind it. That’s saying quite a bit considering his large frame that stands as a whopping six feet and two inches.
Sometimes I think he enjoys painting more than he enjoys physical intimacy with me. When I see the way he looks at them – the paint, the brushes, the canvas – the way he speaks to them – the way he touches them. I envy them. What I wouldn’t give for him to caress me so gently. To whisper so sweetly. To love me so tenderly. My heart aches.
His fingers are on the canvas. He’s smearing the paint. He pushes his hair back from his brow and gets some blue across his forehead. There’s yellow on the bridge of his nose, and green on his left cheek. If I could taste color, I’m sure he’d taste divine.
He finally drops his brush against the easel, steps away, and smiles – admiring his work.  I stand and he waves me over. I look at it. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous even. But it’s not me. The girl in the picture is radiant. She’s flawless. She’s happy. She’s what he wished he saw when he looked at me.
We’re all just somebody’s muse I guess.
I wish I were the one behind the canvas, instead of the one on it.
1.8k · Sep 2013
venom and compliments
Circa 1994 Sep 2013
Give me your
I need
I need a hug
The way
Daddy needs a drink.

I take in all
The sounds
And overdose like the sick boy
That forgot how to smile.
Maybe he was never shown how.

The cancer spreads to my throat
And chokes my words.
I spit up venom
And poison all my relationships.
Now I am alone.

Call my bluff
But don't tell me I'm pretty
Because I won't believe you.
I don't take compliments from strangers.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
Remember when you traced over my photograph
in green paint
and it made me look like Shrek?
I hated you for that.
You're a talented tracer though;
I'll give you that.

Remember that one time you made a list of things I like
in your notebook?
I found it romantic in a tastefully subtle way.
I like that you noted my affinity for knee socks.
The song and the item of clothing.

Remember when I wrote you that poem
on Hello Poetry?
It was kind of cliche
in a charming sort of way
You never admitted to reading it,
but I know you did.
1.7k · Mar 2014
breaking bones
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
"What does the wishbone tattoo signify?"
Depends who's asking.
If I like you it's because not all things that are broken are bad.

If I don't then it's because I needed more luck.
1.6k · Jan 2015
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
Cranky clitorous
Shaking in bliss.
Topsy turvy,
Give me a tickle.
Give me a lick,
Like lollipop sugar sweetness -
You've got a candy coated tongue.

Twitching legs.
Raking nails across
Crumpled sheets.

Don't cry baby,
Even though it's beautiful to die.
1.6k · Dec 2013
comfy, cozy, cool
Circa 1994 Dec 2013
I'm in my underwear.
I'm wearing your shirt
And my favorite sweater.
I'm comfy
I'm not used to the chill here.
Maybe I could bare the backwoods.
I thought I was over my fear of isolation
But I'm not.
1.6k · Jul 2014
Circa 1994 Jul 2014
Glances from across the room louder than the music
louder than the bass that everyone is waiting drop.
Musical notes clamouring against the floor,
don't pick them up.
leave them there,
walk around them
on tip toe
in ballet slippered feet.

feather light or lead heavy.
veins of lightning.

forming vowel sounds with my mouth.
i. i. i.

Sew me together with fingertips like the soft kiss of lemon drops,
coming up the stairwell
the warmth of wanting
the bite of yearning.

Flushed pink.
Pinched red.
Pricked purple.

Spaghetti mind of soft thoughts
turning hard and stale like cracked chapped candy cane lips.

Naked and waiting.
Scabbed mosquito bites that bled bright red.

Gimme a sec.
3-5 business days until rejection.
I'll keep you posted.
48 hours of maybe.
Lemme get back to you.

establishing a lack of certainty.
but but but
Re: Urgent: Plz Respond ASAP

*But when?
On the topic of anticipation, while listening to gooey by glass animals.
1.6k · Jan 2014
tu me manques
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
and you're perfect for all the wrong reasons:
you like cats more than you like people
your favorite days are ones that don't involve putting on pants
you can't seem to chop onions without cutting your fingers.

and we work despite the distance:
we hate the same things
we have synchronized Netflix dates
we like each others' frequencies.

you are perfection that fills up an empty bed
you are everything I want

and you are
**missing from me.
1.6k · Oct 2013
hardcore crushing
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
I want him
But I can't have him.
I feel him
But can't touch him.
I need him
But can't see him.

I think
This is what you call
A crush.

I've got it bad.
But it feels so good.
I kind of like
This game we play.
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
Hey, so I felt like writing.
But I didn’t know what to write.
So I’m here.
Talking to myself.
I’m eating pizza pockets in bed.
I’m listening to the **.
I’m cold.
I’ve had a glass of summer red and it’s too early to sleep.
I’m thinking about Ben.
I’m thinking about my dad.
I’m thinking about where I’ll be in a month or two from now.

It’s hard to wake up some days.
Because I think this is as good as I’m going to get.
Because I’m not so good at this.
Any of it.
I’ve only just mastered breathing.
But functioning?
Sustaining healthy relationships?
I can’t even win the approval of the person that’s sole job is to love me whether I deserve it or not.
My dad has given me the cold shoulder before.
But this feels heavier.
And I can’t help but to think that perhaps I deserve it.
I’m not always very nice.
In fact I think sometimes I like the idea of people thinking I’m a complete *****.
If I was a therapist I’d probably say something like: “It’s a defense mechanism.”
Yeah. Maybe.
Maybe I’m actually a really nice and I like being in the company of others.
Maybe I’ll find success in my future career.
Maybe I’ll live in a nice house
and I won’t **** up my children’s lives because I never had a proper parental figure.
Maybe I can give them the stability I’ve craved my whole life.
In a perfect world.
But the world is infamous for its lack of perfection.

What I hope to accomplish through my writing is complete honesty.
If nothing else, I want to be able to be honest with myself.
The one place I can do that is my writing.
Honesty comes easy on paper.
It’s softer. Gentler.
But words spoken always seem too harsh, and too loud.
I don’t know much about anything, but there are some things I do know.
I know that I want to give and receive love.
I know that there are parts of myself that I like to pretend don’t exist.
I know that I am scared of just about everything. But…

I think I will be okay despite the odds.
But I’m not sure okay is good enough.
1.6k · Nov 2013
daddy dearest
Circa 1994 Nov 2013
I used to be a daddy's girl.
And maybe I still am.

Maybe that's why I work so hard to earn his approval.

Maybe if I were a boy.
Maybe if I were more submissive.
Maybe if I didn't exist.

Maybe then he'd love me.
He won't listen.
He won't stop yelling.
Not until I'm in tears.
And I am.
1.5k · May 2017
Internal dialogue
Circa 1994 May 2017
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

I missed the feeling of your **** between

my lips

and your ***

when it drips

down my chest

and my thighs, pressed tight

are still slippery on the inside.

I’m an eel moving

with the pull of your current.

I’m a siren

singing full volume in the desert.

I want your elixir

your kingdom ***

in the bedroom,

but you’re not dreaming.

Late night snacking

on this *****

you’ve got a craving

and my hips

won’t quit

until you’re shaking


from the thrill of it.

Daddy goes down,

but his last call doesn’t come til’ sun up.

Shape me and mold me

every color of

your ****** deviancy.

I’m not a cure,

but I’m fixing

to explore the furthest reaches of your boundaries

of this bed

of your – flexed fingertips.

I’ll wake you with my mouth

if you put me to bed with yours.

I’m pleased to please you,

sweet release in these sheets,

tangled up inside me.

Your aftershocks got me shook.

To the boy with the eyes,

the color of the sea –

I fell into more than your bed.
Circa 1994 Nov 2014
I loaded a gun with good intentions
And pressed it to my head.

I didn't feel guilty anymore
Because when the gun went off I was dead.
1.5k · Mar 2014
hella faded
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
I don't just wanna be your come down.
I wanna be what gets you high.
I wanna be you THC.
Your MDMA.
Your TLC.
And all the other letters in between.
1.5k · May 2014
something about her
Circa 1994 May 2014
Her lack of self-restraint was a conscious decision to be self-destructive.
She sought a reaction that would produce the attention she fed on like a greedy infant noshing on dimpled knuckles with a mouthful of swollen gums.

She preferred cassette tapes to records “just because.”
She liked long, drawn out silences.
She enjoyed the way crumbs gathered at both corners of her mouth as she devoured a box of strawberry Poptarts.

At any given moment it was quite likely that her tongue was rattling behind her teeth, that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that she was falling in love with a fictional book character; perhaps even doing all three simultaneously.
1.5k · Dec 2015
Circa 1994 Dec 2015
Pinky promise
Stick a needle in my eye
I'm rubber and you're glue -
All of me sticks to all of you.
Blanket forts
Pillow fights
Sleepy eyes
From long nights.

You're my partner in crime
My lover
And best friend til the end.
To counteract my mood.
1.4k · Oct 2014
Circa 1994 Oct 2014
Handle me gently.
Mull it over in your mind
Until you find the words that match your intentions.
Say them quietly
So only I can hear.
Don't speak harshly.
Don't leave me hanging.
Don't blend into the background.
A word spoken is a word meant
So say what you mean
Because I meant what I said
And I'll say it again.
I love you times one million.
All my bad decisions were worth it
If my one right decision was you.
1.4k · Oct 2013
i'm not listening
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
I've been told I'm cynical
by  a hippie with dreadlocks.
No, I don't want to try molly with you.

I've been told that cuddling is better in the cold
by a boy with an enviable smile, wearing a striped sweater.
Let's make a book of comfortable sleeping positions for couples.
With the bed as the office, and the sheets for a desk.

I've been told that I'm too old for hugs
by the contributor of half my genes.
I love you too.

People tell me things
and usually I don't listen.
But sometimes I do.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
What if we had been strangers on a train
And I asked you what book you were reading.
You'd say:
“The Old Man and The Sea.”
Then I’d tell you I’d never read it before.
You’d say it was your favorite.
And ask for mine,
“Tuesdays with Morrie,”
I’d answer.
We’d bond over similar music taste
The **
Flight of the Conchords.
You’d compliment my sweater.
I’d admire your socks.
Maybe I’d be bold and ask to take your picture,
But probably not.
Instead I’d ask you name
And you’d ask mine.
I’d smile at your reaction.
”Nice to meet you Oshin.”
Then you’d go back to reading your book
And I’d try to find another excuse to talk to you.
What if we weren't strangers//
1.3k · Sep 2013
Favourite Person Ever
Circa 1994 Sep 2013
He said: "Of all the chat sites in all the internet, she walked into the one I happen to use."
He was drunk when they first spoke.
But she was too enthralled by the fact that he thought she had good taste in music to notice.
It had taken her years to train her ears to appreciate the sound of a bass solo
and learn to distinguish the no name bands worth knowing, from those that were not.

She had an appreciation for clavicles
and wrote too many poems about what love was, wasn't, and should be.
She liked to pretend that she hated cliches, yet her favorite movie was chalk full of them.

She said: "I dig you."
She dug so many things about him.
He had so much worth digging.
His love of the ocean and all things aquatic.
His green-gray eyes.
His general lack of amusement with things of the romantic sort.

He was too sincere to ever use lols
and fancied himself most competitive cooking shows.
And though he'd never driven a car, he had been para-sailing.

She said: "You're my person."
He said" "Make the world your person."
So they continued on in their mutual amusement,
exchanging selfies, sweaters and songs.
They spoke a unique language consisting of
and innuendo.
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