Mad Girl's Love Song


I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung…

Don’t call me more than once, you hear me?
When you do, I’ll hear it ring and I’ll let it go.
Don’t forget to leave a message. Breathe
so the static catches onto your lungs and
makes that silvery rasp I love.

Tell the silence you need me. Tell it you’ll be fine
if I don’t need you back. Tell it you remember
the way I smoked like everyone was watching,
like every kiss was the one before quitting.
Tell it you miss me. Tell it you’re not lying.
Stop when the beep sounds.

"I don’t hate you," she promised. "I swear I don’t.

"It just hurts too much to be around you right now."

She was the kind of girl who no one really noticed at first. She’d sit there quietly without a sound and if you said hi you’d be lucky to get a smile and a nod.

But if you looked closely, you would notice her fingers tapping on the desk, playing an imaginary piano. You would hear her humming under her breath, just loud enough to orchestrate an entire symphony for one and avoid the ‘what are you singing?’.

And if you asked her what she thought of ‘that film’ you’d probably end up talking to yourself, because she would much rather you ask her opinion on the creation of the universe or how war and poverty are justified.

In fact, she didn’t so mind that no one noticed her, because when she was loud the ground trembled beneath her feet and the mountains echoed her roar.

Her loudness wasn’t something everyone could handle, so when he walked up to her and they began talking about the world in all its wonder, her heart gave a little sigh, as if to say “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Love her with your fingers in her hair, pulling, pulling until she’s breathing in time with each thrust and jolt.

Kiss her hard enough to bruise and when she pulls away grab her waist so she’s never far enough to resist, so she falls asleep with your name on her lips and the feeling of your skin on her skin.

Touch her like she’s fire and you’re no longer scared of getting burned, as though being lost in her has made you braver than you ever knew was possible.

And when she looks at you, brimming with desire, slow down so her knees don’t give way and her eyelashes don’t flutter into oblivion. Slow down so the nails digging into your back and the heart pounding in your chest are brought to a halt.

Slow down and ask her what she wants, and watch her crumple in front of you like a thousand falling stars. Ask her again and watch her breathe your name over and over until the words are lost and she swears she’s never felt like this before.

"But you can’t just -"

"Watch me."

- Six word story (This is how you deal with haters)

She will cry. She will cry over you like there is no tomorrow, until her throat is raw and her hair a mess. Her screams will echo through the walls and there will be nothing beautiful about it.

She will tear out the pages of her diary that she dedicated to you and swear your name will never again appear on the crisp pages that are so important to her. But two days later the words won’t come and she’ll find herself scrawling your name over and over until the ink blurs and merges with her tears.

She will curse you and curse herself and curse the skies for everything and nothing. There will be days when the sun shines but all she will see is rain and clouds, and days when she won’t see anything at all.

And fuck. She will love you even though her heart is breaking because she gave you a part of herself that you refuse to return.

But know this, she will also learn to forget you, so when she walks by in two months time, laughing and smiling without a care in the world, you will wonder how she slipped through your fingers, and she won’t care.

Not one single bit.

Source: blossomfully via reality-escape-artist

If I want cake, I am going to eat cake.

And maybe tonight I will stop believing that after ten o’clock you should not consume anything solid for fear of becoming bloated and enormous. Maybe I will stop cringing at the thought of midnight feasts and desserts and chocolate ice cream.

Maybe I will screw up the magazines that advise drinking as much water as is humanly possibly to flush the “toxins” out of your body, and to eat lemon after lemon because they are supposedly “cleansing”. Because maybe all that is “toxic” in my life is the belief that I am defined by what I eat.

Maybe for once I will wear something bright because black may be “slimming” but yellow and orange and green reflect my personality so much better. And maybe I will allow myself to feel good about the colours, to not look in the mirror and want to rip everything off, including my own skin.

And if tonight it is 1am and I want to eat cake, you better believe that I am going to eat it.

I am going to rip up the pretense that living off vegetables makes you a better person. I am going to destroy the notion that cutting carbs or fat or counting calories so closely you could swear you’d memorised the content of apples and oranges and pears makes you more lovable or deserving of affection.

Because when did being “healthy” suddenly becomes synonymous with hating yourself? A body is only as healthy as its mind, so maybe tonight when you feel like cake, you should get up, march over there and tell yourself “If I want cake, I am going to eat cake.”

- Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #37 (Stop trying to fit a square into a circular mold)
Source: tulipnight via cornersoftheworld