for someone who talks a lot of **** about dying,
i don't wanna die.
if anything i am absolutely terrified of the future but i am even more so afraid of death.
i want to be able to live my life, more so than i am right now. i want to be able to say "wow i really did that huh" or "wow, i really did that?".
no regrets for things left undone.
no, im quite content with shaking hands with death on my terms, not his.
but
when i do finally ******* die, i want my body to be laid to rest in the forest. i want moss to reclaim my skin, and seeds to burrow themselves deep within my chest, my organs fodder for the local wildlife. i want something pure and good to inhabit my heart, purge it of the impurities forced upon it. i want my decaying flesh to blossom once more into something beautiful, letting me give back to the earth even in death

Let me begin by saying that
this is not me asking you out.

This is me telling you,
and countless others on the internet,
that I think you're a really great person.

You are an incredibly kind person,
and honestly, I'm surprised that my *******-ish
ways haven't scared you off by now.

Now see, the thing is that
when I first saw you
I asked my friend who you were and
she called you "Reddit Man"
to which I scoffed,
because it sounded like you were a off brand superhero.

On the next day I saw you again,
I did that stupid thing
where I slid up to where you were sitting
and the words
"So I hear you like Dungeons and Dragons."
fell clumsily out of my mouth and I
I turned red because that is not what I wanted to say.

It has been approximately forty-three days
since those stupid words clumsily fell out of my mouth
and we haven't talked about DnD since.
We have, however, talked about Reddit,
Jake Hill,
suicide,
alcoholism,
stalkerish 14-year-old girls,
crazy exes,
waluigi not being in smash,
and dogs vs cats,
among other things.


Its been about two months
and somehow,
even when I stole courage
from the burning sensation in my throat when I sip on liquid fire,
I still have not said a word to you about how I feel.

I wonder if maybe it was obvious,
in the way I talked to you,
about you.
or in the way I blushed when I so much as brushed up against you in line during lunch, or in the way I laughed at all your jokes, as if everything you say is humorous.

Let me reiterate the fact that
I am not writing this to ask you out.

But to instead let you in on how I feel about things other than my own death and the possibility of me flying to a foreign country and not coming back for a few years.

And, yeah, this is a bit childish,
writing an awkward sort of love letter,
in hopes of you never seeing it,
or if you do see it, I'll mostly likely be moved on to other things.

But in all honesty I probably won't even mention this to you, until I'm in college and I message you out of curiosity to how that open heart surgery went.

and now, that its been over a year,
I'm finally in college, and
I'd still like to ask
how that operation went,
and if when they opened up your chest
if your heart was as broken as you told me it was.

if walls could talk, college dorms would sound faintly of soft cries, and loud screams of joy.
church halls would beckon you closer and whisper secrets that no one wants to hear.
if walls could talk, parking garages would echo with screams from fights of broken lovers and the awful screeching of tires
therapy offices would gently hum lullabies slightly off tune and out of key.
if walls could talk, the corners of my bedroom would surround you and tell you things about me that i should've said years ago but
if walls could talk,
id never want to listen

I'm not one for conventional
stereotypes.
But when someone says
"That's not lady-like."
I start to take offense.
See, for years women were shamed
and had to be humble servants to men
We were hanged for "witchcraft"
or merely looking at our neighbors the wrong way.
We were told we would never get to vote or
be in a position of power.
We are asked "Well, what were you wearing?"
Like it's our fault, like the men couldn't control themselves
So when you say to me
that my dress should go past my knees
that I shouldn't curse
that my hair is too short, my waist is too big
that I am "unladylike"
what I hear is "go back to the servant woman who didn't speak, didn't vote, didn't do anything besides what she was told."
And that to me
is unladylike.

to a father who showed up too late
im grateful that you were in my life at all, but why were you eight years late? do you know what kind of damage that did to me? or were you too drunk to care? i love you though, always. next time, call when im drunk too.

to the boy with a broken image of himself
you are not what you see in that mirror. that is not you, and one day what you see will be right. trust me, it will get better soon and everything will be okay. with love, that boy you know you are.

to the woman who single-handedly raised me
i know im a ******* *****, but thank you for doing your best to get me to where i needed to be. im sorry i didn't value you as much as i should have. thanks for putting up with my ****. also, next time you call me, id appreciate it if you would call me by my name. thanks, the son you didn't want but got stuck with anyways.

to the former lover with the broken wings and scars from falling from heaven
*******, you don't ******* miss me. you were bad for me and im glad i left when i had the chance.

to the boy with long hair who i love dearly, mostly platonically
im sorry i put you through hell. thank you for staying by my side through everything. you don't know how much i love you, or appreciate you. and hey, don't forget to smile.

to everyone who ever doubted me
i feel bad for you, because you've got to be a sad bunch of people to try and put down other people. you almost got me, almost. better luck next time.

to myself, ten years ago
i love you, so much. you are gonna do great things. keep your head up and reach for the stars. you've got this, kid

remember when a simple dandelion was the most beautiful and rare flower.

and when if you fell you didn't go to the hospital for a broken bone, your mom just put some Neosporin and a bandage on your knee.

and when you could pluck the petals of a daisy to determine if your crush liked you back.

now it's more like utility bills piling up on the counter and bouquets of dead roses sitting on a kitchen table long forgotten by the moved on couple.

it's wars televised for all to see and pills to help you sleep and alcohol for when that doesn't help.

it's more like drowning your sorrow in the whole carton of chocolate ice cream and Friends reruns on tv interrupted only by the occasional commercial and your tears

it's competing for likes on an app that only exists on your phone and being **** when it comes to real life conversations.


        in these times it's not about who you are, it's about who you pretend to be on the internet.

I fell in love with you the moment I heard my best friend say your name.

Today I read your palm and wanted to see myself in your future but I couldn't see anything.

I asked would you **** me if I paid you and you offered to do it for free, jokingly.

See the thing is I was serious, but you didn't believe me.