how is is that you make
me so incredibly full
and also so empty
at the exact same time?

here is what i think we need to realize;
it isn't about ANYTHING
everything you see, what is it doing there?
did you put it there? did they? did he?
did you want to? did you want them to?
it isn't about the pretty colors, the texture, the softness, the lightness, or how big it is or how fat you are or even how crazy, right?
just keep your eyes closed, your mouth shut, curl up in a ball, go to sleep.
will you wake up when i call your name? is it too late for anything, for everything?
i told you i was bored and you told me to entertain myself so i'm drawing on your face with my eyeliner while you sleep. you'll tell your friends i was the craziest girl you ever slept with but that doesn't mean you didn't like it, wouldn't do it again, that you didn't do it again, because you did.
you told me the humans were becoming machines and you seemed excited about this but i was terrified. no, i wouldn't believe it, couldn't believe it and i got mad but then you held me with your huge arms and i was so small and the textures, lightness, softness, hardness, smoothness, i felt with my small hands and we were sculptures, not machines and not humans either for a moment until you moved me on top of you and looked me in the face for so long and didn't say a word.
you never said a word and that said it all,
that this was not about anything at all and you had no idea how i got there either.

every morning she woke up and went downstairs and ate a cup of greek yogurt and wondered if life was ever going to get more interesting than this. you know?
monotony is the enemy. she scratched her fingernails against the surface of everything, pretty much. skin and hair, photographs of the grand canyon, dollar bills, fitted sheets on unfamiliar beds. to feel something she knew she'd never own herself. she was reaching towards something but she didn't know what it was. all of her strings were cut and she had been holding the scissors the whole time.

i would like to wake up to your stupid face every **** day and leave the blinds closed, soaking up your skin like rays of light.

i've really got a thing for the teeth in your mouth and looking at them in your lips-slightly-parted slumber and running my tongue over where they gnawed a hole in my lower lip in the dark of the early morning.

your eyelashes are daggers on the side of my face. blink into the afternoon and scrape a love note onto my face.

"are you okay?", you whispered and i laughed. i actually giggled.
"harder"