is it weird that we’re not in love but i am saving poetry in my likes for when you break my heart??
don’t worry I’m not that self-victimizing tomorrow I will write poetry about when I break yours
I can’t come into politics today because last night at one am I had a mental breakdown. No, not a mental breakdown. That sounds really dramatic. But it was 1:49 and I was lying in my bed stripped of sheets that smelled like sex posting photos on my wall as well as letters with handwritten addresses and post stamps. The stamps made me very happy because they remind me of my collection when I was nine. I gave them to a sixteen year old girl who was leaving for Brazil because she had a bigger collection than he, all neatly pressed in a leather bound portfolio. I kept mine in a tin can and I thought she’d give them a better life. I wonder what she did with them. I wonder where they are now.
But anyways, I’m not gonna send them to you, because it would be considered “innapropriate” and really weird to talk about mental breakdowns and sex with your politics lecturer. I don’t know why. I want to talk about politics too, though. That’s important to me too. And you’re my favourite lecturer because you do copyright pauses on the lecture recordings just so you can say “fuck” alot. But i can’t come because right now I just want to write and remember and stare at my wall and make beautiful art and maybe make plants and i think I just want my work to show like that poem says so maybe i don’t have to be empty and i don’t have to ache. And I want to sing and breathe poetry right now oh my god its so freaking weird some little girl with a crazy fringe and pigtails all the way in Tallahassee has inspired me and I don’t wanna keep it clamped up in my veins its too pretty I want it to burst forth. You know that quote about if you ever think “oh my god I can’t say that he’ll think I’m weird” then you should, uh, well, it sounded more poetic than this. But you should leave. I found this boy with a ridiculous smile, two fake front teeth and sparkling eyes but he doesn’t speak poetry and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know how to feel about anything. I fall in love with words and I think I’m in love with one of my friends that sends me poetry and letters but like in a platonic way?? Is that possible, to be in love with someone so innocently, and to be sorta…in-not-so-many-feelings-with someone else but in a I wanna bang your brains out sorta way?
I am definitely not sending this to my politics tutor.
I am a pretty crumbling wreck of a house that started construction but never completed. I’m half built walls and corroded steel frame and I house mice that climb in dusty empty rooms and peak their noses up through the debris and make squeaking noises in a hopeful, love-me sort of way.
I need to make my bed. I need to get up at 4am and read. I need to go to university and I need to step on crunchy leaves and I need to go to the doctor’s and make myself look semi human for the boy with the pretty face who doesn’t speak poetry but I don’t want to I want to lie here unlying, with my hair all tangled and boofy and my face red and my eyes unlined and dull and regular and my dirty toes and chipped fingernails. I just want to be gross and ugly for a little while. I just want to be alone.
I don’t know shit about photography, but the person who took this shot must be given the highest award of them all.
this is breathtaking