Not The Type

"Woman, you were born to build."

Well I am tired, of taking your advice, of deciding how exactly it is I am supposed to piece this 5000 piece puzzle without any semblance of a guide. I cannot tell if this is a ship, or a jungle or just a white room. And I find myself breaking the glass walls I think I keep building and admiring the raspberries that drip down my hands, take a step back then continue to forge some kind of barricade with melting plastic. I'm still not doing it right, you say. Maybe this is all a cheap thrill for you, a box of odd ends and corners you couldn't fit into your masterpiece. 

The Kahleeessssssi is annoying

• it's a very odd sensation you find yourself realizing that you are coping fine and the next minute your fingers hurt from the plastic lid of a coffee cup you were calming sipping from

• "you're so easy to read" - but I am not an open book. The careless coffee stain, the crease-less spine that someone has strained himself to maintain, the attempts at annotation, the key scratches on the cover - empirical proof for Hemingway or Fitzgerald to prove their hypothesises. Uncertainty - none. I do not have that privilege. I must scour for things like the actor hunting for a misremembered line in the wrong scene.

• (but bb I will offer you camomile tea whenever thank you so much)

• Happy birthday Benny

• It annoys me that I liked this and have no intention of unliking this on tumblr

I should write more substantial posts

  

 

June 2013 with myself

I should be studying for History right now considering how my paper is tomorrow. But here is word vomit. June was fine. IMUNC!!!!!!!!! and PEOPLE!!!!!!! but yeah

the last time we went swimming the sea stood up and hugged you as though you were responsible for keeping it blue

there is sun

it feels great when the rays hit you

the water is refreshing

you can smell the salt

feel the sand under your printed toes

after a while you feel the burn

your bikini strap is digging too deep into your back

the water is too hot

the sand is getting into your eyes

your hair is everywhere except in the right place

your ruby/blood red drink is too sweet 

you can almost feel the syrup viscous on your skin

you feel the lukewarm alcohol pierce through your cracked lips

where are the moon and stars

where is the evening breeze

where are the late night walks along the beach in a flowy cotton (comfortable) dress

where is the trial of fairy lights that end at the dock

where is the beam coming from the lighthouse

where is the chill that reminds you that you are vulnerable

that vulnerable means alive

where are the waves

the night isn't coming