Traditions are funny.
I know that I’m not supposed to eat meat on Fridays, but only because that’s what I’ve always done.
My boyfriend isn’t religious and sometimes he can’t hide his scoff when I say I can’t eat pepperoni,
because it’s Friday.
Can’t we just get a plain pizza instead?
I don’t even know why I do it anymore. I stopped liking church a long time ago and the pain and the loss and the unbearable suffering and stupidity and ignorance in this world has reduced me to a half-believer.
I heard somewhere that’s worse than a non-believer.
I guess it’s better to fully believe that you don’t believe, than to half believe that you do believe.
Apparently fish doesn’t count as meat though, so
i’ll still eat my tuna salad on Fridays.
Sometimes you change things up and you surprise even yourself.
My friend and I decided that we weren’t going to take people’s shit anymore.
A cry into the void:
No more letting things go,
or robbing yourself because that’s just how you’ve always acted.
Why do you keep sending me jokes like that when I don’t think they’re funny?
I shouldn’t have to say this more than once: no!
Sometimes you order a cocktail, or wear a new pair of shoes, or order Do-si-dos instead of Samoas and you think to yourself,
Here’s your money.
I’m a damn new person.
I think better when I hear your voice.
Things that had been plaguing me
somehow just seem to make sense
coming off of your lips.
The way you can make the whole world make sense.
So carefree. So fearless.
I remember a day when we laughed. The hot leather of your car seats burned my legs but I forgot the pain when I looked at your lips.
I couldn't foresee what would come of those.
I was feeding you passionfruit Italian ices while you had your hands on the wheel and the gear shift. The air was so hot. The urgency notable.
I should have kissed you when I fed you those ices.
In between a laugh or a comment or something.
I had lemon ices that day like always.
I had never tasted passionfruit until I met you.
You are fleeting in a way that all good things are
you leave me with the best taste in my mouth right before disappearing
Cotton candy in a pink martini, gone the second liquid touches it
Thin strings wrapped around themselves playing out a thunderclap of laugher and a symphony of my name leaving your lips
Dissolving through the static of a phone call
I’d drink you up in a second if you weren’t so far away
If life had dealt me another hand
An ace of diamonds instead of a joker with teeth exposed
Smiling through what could be in another life,
Or in a dream.
But one always has to turn the light back on and wake up.
Beep beep beep
Tiered to the sky with sickening sweetness and sprinkles
the obnoxious colors of your Lisa Frank folder you had in the second grade
buy me candy turns into
buy me shots
comes the realization that nobody wants to celebrate your birthday
celebrations of the self are inherently narcissistic
so people take advantage
of your life
to celebrate their own
I cried thinking about you last night
i don’t know if it was because I missed you, or your body, or the feeling of your hand on my back
my mind usually doesn’t falter this much when it’s only been 10 days.
i wanted the feeling of my cheek on your chest and of your hot lips. Clumsily kissing me just like the first time.
i cried thinking last night
I don’t know if it was because I drank most of that bottle by myself Saturday night while I was with my friends and you were with yours
I told you I was having fun, and I really think I was.
i called you two times before you answered, I guess third time really is a charm
I cried last night
and I called you and told you I loved you, but I’m not sure why I was crying.
Getting your hands dirty always happens when you don’t plan on it
flour wedged under too long fingernails
embossed with the imprints of your unwashed sheets because you just couldn’t wait to get to sleep
you laid there though, not moving but completely awake
unsure of what came first your doubt or that phone call
kneading dough is oddly therapeutic when you’re thinking about ending things
you know it’ll just rise back up after you punch it down
but there’s only so much yeast
at one point or another it’ll get punched and stay down
then you’re left with tough bread
something that used to feed thousands but somehow fell short in your loaf pan
you punch it again, this time achieving nothing but blowing off steam
you don’t need the carbs
via Daily Prompt: Aesthetic