it is one-twenty-seven in the morning and i am finishing my tea

as i’m finishing my tea, i want to write.
i already finished saying goodnight awhile ago,
but i had a headache and wanted a cup of tea.

i haven’t written in a very long time.
stringing notes has replaced untangling words recently.
the wood between the metal lines is more familiar than this keyboard.

but this tea is insistent that i use both.

i fear i have forgotten how to write what i used to write.
and until i remember (willingly or otherwise)
i will write like this.

i write a stanza, writing what my head says.
i finish the stanza.
i sip my tea.


i want to write more than i have.
i want to be a better lover.
i want to apologize for everything.
i want to go back to what we had.
i want to sleep.
i want to know how to write a better bassline.
i want to know how to make this chai tea so that it does not smell like a toilet.
i want to know that i will be able to change for you
(because i feel like i am making it harder than it has to be)
i want to feel like i am not the only one realizing how offensive everything is.
i want to not be so sensitive.
i want to not feel like i’m about to have a headache. (it’s like watching dark clouds)
i want to be there with you.

i want you.

i want you to know that i love you.
                           that i am sorry (i don’t even know what for)
                           that i am trying to write for you.
                           that i am trying to know what i should be for you 
i want us to know that everything will always be okay.

it is one-thirty-seven in the morning and i have finished my tea. 

(if you want me to just shut up when you cut your hair then tell me, please don’t just leave passive-aggressive tumblr posts. and i’m the only one i’ve heard complain about your hair, literally everybody i’ve heard gives some random squee. if you’re entitled to act then i’m entitled to react.)



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Gently curving lips
entwined with heartfelt sighs.

Stunning eyes
Rimmed with dark bags.

Such is life
I’m glad it’s with you. 

Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.
Mark Twain (via larmoyante)

a hairy topic

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I want to be your pillow
To let you rest from pain.
I want to be your roof
And keep you dry from rain.

I want to be your vehicle
And take you where you want to go.
I want to be your dictionary 
And teach you things you do not know.

I want to be your gentle poet
To write you these kinds of things,
I want to be your careful lover,
Who makes your soul to sing.

I want to be yours. 

Your answer

I haven’t forgotten, I just cannot find the words, no matter how hard I search.

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I don’t want to have to be the one who mourns everything when everyone else has clearly forgotten. It’s mortifying. It’s mortifying to be the one who remembers.
Ryan O’Connell (via larmoyante)

I’m trying my hardest, just need to get this out of my system.

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