Fuck your romance, (my romance.)
Fuck your kisses (i share because i want someone to give a shit)
And your plans for the future? (self sabotaging) I say, fuck em.
Arrested development is the theme of December.
I'm wearing sweaters made for fat 11 year olds
and a light up Justin Bieber watch.
Listening to Riot Grrl
Feministing it up like I did when I was 19,20,21, 22...
Remember when I grew pennyroyal?
That shirt that said "I ♥ MY VAGINA"
Oh hold on, I need to put that in my Livejournal.
Reading
reading
reading
readingreadingreading
I forgot how good
Australopithecus Robustus
(or homo erectus, heeheeeeee)
always made me feel, remember?
Remember how I never had a brain for numbers or figures
But I
fell in love
with
dating flakes?
The nights awake
snapping at my barging-in mother
and the feeling of pieces falling into place as my fingers tapped the keyboard furiously, not worrying if i hit the right letters, just hoping it would be correct enough for me to go through in revision and have the bulk of what i wanted breathed out after inhaling gigantic gasps all day long.
The themes were simple but the release was true and I'd grin through my braces and headgear and finally fall asleep.
I can almost pinpoint when I stopped.
It wasn't your fault
or yours
or yours
or any of yours.
I shifted priorities
and forgot how things felt and filled my feelings with new things.
But it's back to sleater kinney and CUNT and bad poetry (like this) and plastic bags of failed bifaces and scrapers dated in sharpie so it'll never be mistaken for a very poorly made artifact and mary magdalene and brian wilson and I might just go drink some newcastle like its the first thing I ever fell in love with and I might paint a vagina on my wall and call it freedom and I just might call myself a virgin, even if it's only for december.
You had so much potential.
tonight
you
still
do.
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