my eyes were never bloodshot in my past lives
where every day was exactly the same
and i saw so much wonder in those
white princesses reeking of smoke
(with glitter undeneath their fingernails)
years later i would brave my memories
embarassed by my wide-eyed past little girl self
and imagine going back to tell her
"you will lose your virginity to a soft skinned boy
green blue eyes he had and straight black hair
it happened in a bathtub and it hurt like
a cigarette put out on bare skin; but you will not care.
just bite him on the lip and whimper
(a noise that could have been pleasure or pain)
he will never know the difference"
in my future, you will be stoned every day
but the colors wont be as bright as you imagined
Please go get stoned before you even try talking to me
Comments
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god this brings me back. the colors never are as bright as we imagine...like, reading your poetry makes me want to fucking scream at you because you bring back ME..the me i've buried, the me i've fucking gotten rid of the last two goddamn years. not your fault. i'm not yelling at you so much as with you in that fucking angst, you know?
fuck, i don't get high anymore (that's a long story) but a huge part of it was...the colors never were as bright as i thought they'd be. (and we both know what i mean by that. i think.)
also this made me want to lose my virginity again. that vulnerability ... and that willingness to be so fucking close to someone, to want him to have all of you, and to not be afraid of it.
um this comment is as long as your poem and made much less sense.
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