How to tell if it was a gunshot or fireworks: gunshots don’t echo, fireworks do.
I NEED ADVICE ASAP LIKE ITS QUICK AND GONNA TAKE U TWO MINUTES TO HWLP OUT PL EASE
my uncle died of lung cancer this morning
and I wasn’t sure if I should light one up in remembrance
or if this was my sign to quit.
all day I drank coffee and flicked my lighter,
drove past the gas station three times,
came home and slept.
I leave magenta lipstick on my beer bottle.
he says the only way to keep the fire going
is to blow on it as he winks at me.
when he bends down I want to put my knee in his face
but I walk away instead.
the guys at the bar think they are smooth
but I don’t even make eye contact.
it’s the guys who nervously
bite their lip when I look at them
across the coffee shop that steal my attention.
but boys like them only know how to love on paper.
the man I once loved bought me a card
and signed it with just his name.
I wrote about the day we met on pink paper
and nervously handed it to him.
“I don’t understand writers,” he said
as he tossed my paper on his desk.
he kissed my neck
and said I was too pretty to be typing to people on the internet.
It’s easier to love a writer when you are a writer.
It’s easier to understand the quiet moments,
the long nights illuminated by a laptop,
the ink stains on fragile wrists.
It’s easier to love
when you don’t have to explain yourself.
but boys like them only know how to love on paper
and girls like me only know how to cry on tumblr.
ya’ll are dumb if you think i’m turning my back on justin but you also cant fucking sit there and defend him on every single thing he does when clearly he’s being an idiot bye