my friends sister was telling me about how in highschool a guy tried to take a picture up her skirt as she was walking up stairs and she saw, grabbed his phone, broke it in half, and handed it back to him and said “you can tell your mom why your phones broken”
for a second I forgot about flip phones and I was like how in the holy hell did she rip a phone in half
Come along and we’ll sing the adventure song.
It wasn’t just that I was leaving.
(For the 2:40 bus. For reasons thick in the air.
For reasons that lived beneath the house.
Forever this time)
It wasn’t just that he said it,
(It was the way he said it.
Standing in the doorway, his mouth a thin
clothesline, eyes like two bloodless sunsets
It wasn’t that I didn’t say it back
(Couldn’t soothe him one last time.
Wasn’t that girl anymore. Had a bus to catch.
It wasn’t that I didn’t,
(Though I had stopped breathing his name.
Stopped worshipping his mouth.
Didn’t know yet I still had years
before I stopped dreaming in his voice)
It was the way he knew
I would not say it
(Knew I hated him
for his weakness. Knew his heart
disgusted me. Knew I had caught a butterfly
only to rub it with my hands. Remove the resin.
Leave it winged and without flight)
My mom just called me a bitch because I don’t want to talk to her about college.
My cats tried to reenact the Lion King (they did this to themselves btw)