When you step out of the shower I immediately want to hold you. Your hair is wet, stuck to your forehead like seaweed, and I feel as if you are slowly drowning me. The blue thread of veins is woven under your skin, climbing across the tender underside of your wrists. I read so many poetry anthologies in high school, devouring them like a hungry wolf, gnawing on their bones until they were bled dry. I could do the same to you.
wound, n. & v.
There are apples in a bowl on the kitchen table. There is nothing else on the table but the apples. There is a knife on the kitchen counter, its serrated blade tilted slightly upward, as if ready for the blood. If I were to bite your lip, and hold it between my teeth, would you kiss me back, but harder?
In the human body there are millions of cells, and they multiply and divide like tiny starbursts. Sometimes, like distant orbits, they crush into one another with a sound like breaking glass. No amount of science can ever prepare you for when they do.
In bed, I grip your hips like the hull of a broken ship. We are all splintered; we are all being dragged down into the current. Even your hands: oh, your hands. I stitch your heart to my palm, so that I can take it with me everywhere. There is no thread that matches exactly the color of your blood. Your mouth covers mine with a soft pain, like the sudden jab of a needle into unsuspecting skin.
All this, and more.
I can never stop posting this. The narrow minded bible fanatics that just look at one small thing in the bible then feed the world with their hate over it. At the same time they ignore all the other silly laws made by man they claimed were made by god. These gif’s say it all.
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.