(Source: rubyandmoon, via wolfgang-cross)
these are things we can’t control.
i look at her with a warped sort of lust.
I don’t want to peel her hairs off your pillows,
my hands a slow, heavy combine
harvesting her strands of golden wheat.
i don’t dream
of you or any other man
that way.
i dream
always of rejection
and judgement.
i do not blame you.
i too would want
her to warm the tundra of my brain.
i’m the crude stuff; the eukarotic carcasses stuffed
between layers of earth.
you love me
for my utility
but hate me for my pure black
stench.
Warsan Shire (via unadulteratedconcept)
this morning i awoke
to the shock of your dreamed
infidelity.
later you assured.
this afternoon i played out
long futures in my head
punctuated by
the commas around your mouth.
tonight i drank and waited
for a love that didn’t come.
and painted my nails a
wet blood red.
and let my dog sleep beside me
because i knew she was lonely too.
she told me in her whines
and in her pleading eyes
all gooped over and sagging.
“do people look at me and know?”
i thought. do they see it in my eyes?
hear it in my voice?
who pities me?
today i bought a dress because
i thought you might be having second
thoughts
and i wanted to tempt
your commitment
with my beauty in a new box.
i am a parcel.
do not open
me
in a hurry
or the novelty will
dissapate
like morning fog.
do not shake me,
you’ll chip my varnish.
do not forget me
on the shelf with
your high school year books
and gifts from your mother,
i’ll collect dust, dim, forget
to breathe.
open me slowly
and find new ways of looking
so i never become
old.
handle me gently
and i’ll
stay whole for you.