every mattress is an opportunity
every location
every patch of grass or mud puddle
i could kiss you anywhere
-it's june 16th i guess and my teen angst has a mind of its own
in the sense that i'm ridiculous
but also trying to use it as validation that i might just need to take care of myself
or maybe tell a doctor that i feel like lighting my arm on fire sometimes.
I'm convinced it's normal (because it is)

i wish i'd get punched in the face
because
1. I deserve it
and 2. it'd be nice to feel so bruised but have it physically show.
the gross yellows and deep purples would be visible and undeniable
and there is a lot more wrong in me than the wrong i pinned on you today.
your love is valid
and this is so much fun
and i am a really really big *******
and a fool for even thinking i deserve your love or attention,
i feel like such an idiot
and i can't stop thinking

i know i deserve to be loved
i know that i am loved
((why do i ask for reassurance))
(am i really that selfish)

You know you're the greatest, though
Every day is a pleasure

i am planned out,
and our time is strategically placed in increments,
you'll point out the ******* hours.
carefully calculated so you can tell me we hung out enough
(you counted)

this love still makes my heart race at 90mph
you are still my favorite thing to touch

just let me know when you're ready to hit the brakes
because i don't have my seat-belt on.

i think of your floor and the baseball field under the stars, i want to kiss you there again, i want to climb another fence i want to climb onto the bus
i want to hold your ******* hand, i don't care when,
this is going to be fun.

still shaking from the caffeine
no motivation for much of anything
except a drive to your house.
today i want to practice my own well-being
but also be at peace with whatever you need

The coolest part about the open door to my house-
Our unlocked, hardly ever closed front door-
Is that someone random always walks in right in the middle of me throwing a fit
Right in the middle of any breakdown I'm having
Someone always walks in on time to think "what a *****"
This isn't a ******* poem
And who even ******* cares
(This is me talking to the internet because no one in real life wants to talk to me)