"Everything is NOT alright." - Junie B. Jones
What the actual fuck?
How?
How can you just leave?
How can you just let go of something so beautiful?
So precious?
So rare?
Didn't you feel it?
Or was that just me?
Was I in some sort of alternate reality?
Was I the only one who felt like they were defying gravity?
You'd rather hurt yourself
You're so scared of losing control,
You control the pain,
You look at the loss as your gain
Please, tell me again -
Why?
How?
You can't even look at me.
You can't even talk to me.
You can't even -
Fuck you.
You think you're fucking jaded.
Fuck you.
You think you're fucking rescuing me?
Fuck you.
You think you know what's best?
Fuck you.
You are a coward. You won't even try.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck Youuuuuuuuu.
How could you
Be such a coward
You won't even see me
Because you know
If you did
When you do
You couldn't believe the lies that you're telling
The truth would come spilling through
You fucking know
WHY WHY WHY
Why
Why
Why
Why
Why
Why
Bye
Bye
Bye
Bye
Bye
Bye
Bye
Fucking grow up.
What are you going to do when you fall in love?
What are you going to do when you meet the one?
What are you going to do when he grows up and moves out?
What are you going to do when you finally have time?
When you finally have your mind?
When you finally are ready.
What the fuck are you gonna do?
I guess there wasn't anything special about me
You dropped me like a flower you found on your morning walk,
dead by the end of your journey,
dry and wilted from being in your grip,
your hands,
so soft and gentle,
your kisses so kind and light and full of longing,
hey -
you kissed me back.
I don't understand you.
How can you say you love me and hours later tell me goodbye?
Without a fight
Without me in sight
Without a moment's thought
Without getting caught -
up -
in us
in me
in you
How can you be so loving and so hurtful in one fell swoop
How can you burn me with my own soup?
I don't -
I can't -
I just -
please help me understand
please give me closure
please let me see you
your eyes
your
please
just one last time
I just want to hold you one last time
to prove to you
to prove to you that you're wrong
you're so fucking wrong
I don't want to know what I deserve.
I want you.
I don't want to be responsible.
I want you.
I don't want to burn your shirt. or throw it away. or donate it.
I. want. you.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Fuck.
Do you know how many people would die to be in our arms,
our thoughts, our minds, our beds, our lips, our sighs?
DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY?
DO. YOU. KNOW?
And yet, here we are, chasing these boys who can't give us the fucking time of day.
And they tell us with their words and their actions that we are too much for them.
Too much.
Too much to handle.
Too much to take care of.
Too much for them.
Well, fuck. That. shit.
Because, yes, a bouquet of 100 roses would be too much for a fucking child.
It would seem a bit odd to the other flowers out in the wild.
But that does not mean it is too much.
If you are trying to fit all the power of the sun into a Duracell battery, of course its going to be too fucking much.
Ladies, we need to stop dimming our lights.
We need to stop adjusting our voltage to fit their fucking molds
Their lamps
Their LEDs
Their halogens
Fuck them
We are fucking sunshine
We are fucking power
We are the fucking stars and the moon
Fuck them if they can't handle our worlds
Our fucking universe
Because, let me tell you, someday.
Somewhere.
Someone.
Fucking will.
Someone.
Will.
He said, "Thank you for your suggestion, you will not be missed."
Being an actor,
Having so many people love you
Be, in love with you
So many people infatuated
Elated
So many times you are congratulated
And told how amazing you are
how loved
Spending your entire life being loved by everyone except the one person you care about.
Why the fuck does it work that way?
Why
Why
Why
Why
Why do I wish I had you instead of the thousands of audience members every single day
Why
Why
Why
Why
Why
don't you feel the same way
God, Billie was right, sometimes I just wish you were gay
2: For what?
...
2: Hello.
...
2: I'm the killer.
1: The what?
2: The killer. The murderer. The strangular. ... I do bad things. To women. Specifically.
*1 types feverishly*
2: That shouldn't go in your blog.
*1 continues typing*
2: Ma'am.
*1 looks up as if to stop, then. . . continues typing.*
*2 exhales deeply*
To explain.
This whole fucking fever dream.
"I was manifestin' before I could form a sentence or a question" - Amy Abrigo
"But life isn't just one element - it's a whole goddamn periodic table." - Amy Abrigo
Italia
The humidity tastes like coffee
The air smells of conversations and laughter
My lungs fill with images of venetian masks and fully dressed felines
A: Catch me scalpin' strawberries in my kitchen on a Saturday night!
B: Nobody says that.
A: I say that.
B: Please stop.
To beg you to come over one last time so I can sing my refraid
Please
don't
do
this.
But it's already done
And I can't even allow myself to look at my heartstrings coming undone
Do you really feel like you've won?
I told you exactly how I felt.
I was honest with you.
I could have lied.
I could have tried.
Instead I didn't keep my feelings inside
I wanted you to know
I didn't want to hide
And now you're gone
And I'm wishing I never wrote you that song
How could you be with me and say you'll never belong?
One last time.
Please.
I can't even get a goodbye?
Really?
Dear God: Give me everything you've meant for me. And keep me where the light is. Always.
Bring me someone with time and energy and presence
Who knows what the fuck they want and asks for it and accepts it when it fuckin magically appears.
1. That's part of life.
2. Then what the fuck is this bullshit?
Do you think you're helping me?
Do you think you know what's best?
Because I don't want your fucking help.
I want you.
I don't want to know what's best.
I want you.