starbucks and papercuts

i’m lost. life draws on and i’m bad at friendships, and i’m bad at being a daughter and i’m bad at being a girlfriend. 

and i just want something simple. is that really so hard? I can hardly believe who i have become.　

i don’t want to study and learn about the legal system. i want to learn ballet and study the shapes of the bodies at the barre. 　

i have a type. girls. short girls. short girls with short hair. and nice legs. Pale white or native girls. Girls who spend too much time on the internet and take too long to reply to me. Girls who smirk, and girls who don’t wear a lot of makeup but look amazing when they do. Girls with soft lips and small breasts. girls who wear sweatpants and short-shorts. Girls who giggle when i blow raspberries on their necks. 

but sometimes i think even though they are my type, i may not be theirs.

i need some breathing room.

konagrown:

most girls wish for green or blue

i’m okay with copper eyes

tree bark pigment

 much deeper, you know

i would not change my self

 

i try my best to not get lost in the bottom of my tea cup

to furl myself between soggy leaves

it is in my nature

 

funny feelings like when the boy you think about picks you up so you can get a better look at something                                                                                

and you love it and he is squeezing your waist in an uncomfortable fashion         

and you love it all the more

 

you can always tell who is strange inside by how easily they bruise

if you are covered, that is key

old ragged victorian skeleton key

soft purple smudges all over you

my knees have been speckled my whole life

 

lemon colored feelings and wrinkled sheets, not too early

peach blossoms have been blooming in my core

vines furled around ribs and vertebrae

i don’t expect to make much sense to anybody really

i want to write a story about these people who get stuck at the top of this lighthouse. for hazy months that turn into years. one man commits suicide and then when they can finally find a way to get down, one man doesn’t want to leave. it’d be much more dreamy in a leatherbound volume. i just want to breathe the sea air.