Baby I Can’t Bear The Thought Of Letting You Down. You’re The One I Dress Up For, The One I Cry In

My name is I LOVE YOU and all of this is so new and bright. How lovely it is to have you, sunshine, after all this rain! Heaven lies at your feet and the sunrise breaks in your eyes. You are hot flashes and lightning. How the warmth in your palms cuts down my mountain of empty. How I call this love. How I call this wanting. 

My name is HOT, my name is SEXY, my name is I-REALLY-WANT-FUCK-YOU and that’s a compliment, right? You wrap your arms around my waist and murmur it under your breath. I let your maggot-filled observations wriggle into the blackening wound in my chest. Call it healing, call it medicine, and call it I’m-going-to-be-okay. My name is GIRLFRIEND now, my name is SWEETNESS, and my name is PERFECT. 

My name is BABY and I am lying on the floor. The pain, the bloodstains and the harsh light, your body over mine and my name is NO. My name is STOP. My name is PLEASE SLOW DOWN. My name is I JUST WANTED A HUG. I am a shell of whatever I used to be- nothing more, nothing less. Let this be a funeral for whatever innocence I had left. Let this be my goodbye, my I-swear-I’ll-be-fine. 

My name is blood and pain and baby-let’s-never-talk-about-this-again.

My name is N****. My name is BLACK. My name is AFRICAN and I flinch at your awful words. Your father will never know my name, and your mother will never judge me over dinner. I am dirt. I will never be your perfect, goodly, godly girl. I am too brown to really mean anything. There are no riches here. Nothing grows here. The earth is hungry here. 

My name is DAMAGED GOODS and I wonder how you could ever love a girl like me. You say it over the phone, your tongue lashing from between your teeth. I listen for the love in your voice like a paramedic listens for breath. I hear nothing. It is dead. My name is UNLOVABLE. My name is WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO DO THIS. All that blood pumping and rushing in my veins are only my own. 

My name is I AM SORRY. All those apologies spill over the floor like an overturned drink. You watch me clean it all up, Mary Magdalene at your feet. Retribution for whatever sin I take on next. 

My name is CRAZY. Everything is my fault and none of it is yours. I agree, my lungs bloodletting as I wonder how you are so perfect. I betrayed my own body, my own soul for this and for you. Lover, call this a suicide. Watch how I gag on all this blame, and choke. Watch me and grin. My name is GOOD GIRL. My name is I FORGIVE YOU. My name is OBEDIENCE. My name is I LOVE YOU LIKE THIS.

I learn to be frightened of you like plants learn to be frightened of gravel. My name is STUPID and WOMEN LIKE YOU NEVER KNOW YOUR PLACE. My name is SHUT UP. My name is DECLINED CALLS. My name is I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE. 

My name is IT WILL GET BETTER but I face the wall with my music turned up high, the rotting memories crawling up my throat like spiders. I still see you in the corner of my eye. 

My name is ___________________________________

I can’t remember who I was before this

I can’t remember who I was before you.

7:59am. did I tell you he’s kept every single one of my love letters in his wallet?

you’re right across the bridge, laying in bed and my hands are shaking from holding back from you so I’ve turned to writing. this is the way I kiss you when you’re gone.

I write so much about love because I’ve lived a life of so devoid of it till now. how can I not write about you? this beautiful break of sunshine in my otherwise cloudy world. how can I not weave through the gardens of poetry trying to pick out the most beautiful bouquet of metaphors for you?

those green eyes in the summertime. clammy hands in the winter. bronze skin shining under the sun like you’re made of gold. tender breathing when you lie next to me. the way the breeze plays with your hair in spring. it seems like the universe loves you just as much as I do.

“(To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to pass away, to love is to endure.)”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge. (via xshayarsha)

HUNTER SCHAFER for Givenchy at Paris Fashion Week 2019

my hair was wet and tangled, my clothes stuck to me like a second skin. your hands were reaching for me, desperate and frantic. but we’re laughing and splashing. you had dared me to jump into the lake and I had said, yes I’ll do it even if I can’t swim. what’s youth without a little death anyway? what’s life if we don’t test it’s limits? the lake was so cold but I loved feeling your body pull me from it. I loved knowing you’d always save me. I coughed and spluttered in between the giggles, shivering and shocked. you ask me if it hurts. it still does, my brown eyed boy. it still does.

and I think it always will.

Forough Farrokhzad, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of F. F.; “In The Dark,”

tag yourself: lana del rey edition

diet mountain dew: strawberry milkshakes, vintage diners, heart-shaped sunglasses and tennis skirts, party girl, glittery makeup, lip gloss, heartbreaker

national anthem: 60s soft glamour, expensive taste, gold and pearl jewelry, old hollywood black and white films, elegance, red lipstick

bel air: ethereal and angelic, picking wildflowers, butterflies and soft animals, believing in angels, pink blush, gentle and kind

ride: crushing on guys that ride motorcycles, 70s angel, free spirited, getting into trouble, independent, reckless, adventurous

brooklyn baby: slow dancing to rock music, low key nyc bars, kissing in leather jackets, cigarettes and jazz, smoky eyes, mysterious

florida kilos: tropical baby, mimosas, drawn to the ocean, sun-kissed skin, gold highlight & shimmer, short dresses, moonlight dancing

salvatore: would rather be in italy, grapes & oranges, sunshine, white sundresses, fresh cut market flowers, hydrated skin

honeymoon: romantic and sensual, easily broken heart, love letters, fields of roses and peonies, hazy afternoons in love, warm vanilla

gooooob morning. today is your day. and if it is not. well who really cares. i still love you lots

I love him, more than he knows. I’m waiting for him to come back from the farmers market with flour and bread and rum and peaches. Two hands wrapped around a mug, sipping strong coffee and sitting on the kitchen counter, evening sunlight washing everything in gold and honey and mauve. Please, leave your shoes at the door and shout that you’re home. Please, one more kiss before we turn the kitchen light off.

I love him, more than my mouth could ever admit. He sits in bed, blanket draped across his chest as he watches anime. He’s forgotten his glasses so he squints. I laugh. He calls me “my love” in our mother tongue and kisses my neck, telling me I smell of honey and coffee. Please, linger on my body for a little while longer. Please, keep your palms around my waist till I tell you it’s getting too late.

I love him in words that don’t fit comfortably in my mouth. Softness has never been my first language. Usually romantic jargon sits awkwardly in my throat but god, does it spill like glossy honey when I think of him. God, does it turn sour into sweet, bronze into gold. The soft glow of the lamp illuminates his face whilst he sleeps. He breathes softly and sighs, murmurs for me to please come to bed.

honey, you’re the sweetest thing.