So your father told you once,
you were his princess.
But you won’t see the castle,
and you can not find your prince.
But now you’ve grown a lot
and your dresses don’t fit right.
Your daddy’s not a hero,
he stole your chariot.
So here you are in pieces,
trying to prove to us it’s real.
The softness of your smile
and the lies you want to feel.
The scales beneath your skin
are showing off today.
There’s evil in your heart,
and it wants out to play…
I’ve made a home here for me,
don’t burn it down with your fantasies.
Your kiss feels like home and I’m so fucking homesick.
SHOTS FIREDDamn that turned innocent to calling out sexism real fast
everyone has seen this picture at least once in their internet life
The 1975 have the type of lyrics you want tattooed on your body
mmmsn fhifh mvoifhi,c like chocolate ngdsb
1. I would go up on my tip-toes just to kiss you as you would embrace me, pulling me closer to you. As if the wind would suddenly blow me away. But you held on, and I kept kissing you, and nothing could pull me away. I still stand on my tip-toes every once in a while when I want to feel lightweight. The wind no longer tries to pull me away. It succeeds. The ground always wins; my knees are scarred.
2. I would leave you voicemails every time you didn’t answer. Soon, you started to return the favor. I always loved your voice. An array of crescendos. I couldn’t remember what it sounded like. I replayed them. I forgot how to breathe.
3. We never posed for the camera, if so, only once or twice. We live in a memory, which I replay in my head every time before I go to bed. But I found the very few photographs we did take. God, I can’t shake the image of that glimmer in your eyes. Mine don’t shine like they used to. I don’t recognize the face in them anymore, I lost her when I lost you.
4. I remember your hand, clasped tightly in mine, as you gassed it down those empty streets. And when you weren’t looking my way, too focused on the road ahead, I’d divert my gaze to you. You never once caught me looking, did you? Now I drive those same streets, alone. But I’ve learned to drive one handedly, in case you come back. You can hold my hand. I’ll even let you catch me stealing glances at you.
5. They asked me, “If you had to die today, who would you want next to you?” And before I could even process the question, my lips would dance around the letters of your name. If I had only one breath left to take, I’d still beg to be beside you. I never asked you. I already knew the answer. It would not be me you would have wanted to die next to.
6. I stopped writing the day you left. I had no words left to pour onto empty pages. This is a failure of an attempt. I made poetry out of your love for me. You were my biggest fan, but also my biggest critic. I burned every piece.
7. I whispered “I love you.” You did not say it back.
8. I have written you seven letters so far. You will never read them.
9. I miss you. And my skin aches for your touch. My lips quiver with thirst for yours. My eyes longingly search through the crowds, searching for the only pair of brown orbs I’ve come to adore. I leave empty-handed and alone. My heart is turning cold.
10. I hope you are genuinely happy. You deserve that.
11. If our paths shall ever cross in the future, I will see you then. But if this is the end, I am not bitter over the loss. You offered me everything you kept hidden within. And I was too weak to help you stand tall. But now, you are standing tall on your own. And I am proud of you. I can only hope, one day, I will stand tall on my own, too.
12. I hope you save a special place for me, somewhere in your heart. If not, I understand. A human is only capable of so much love. But if there is no more room for me, at least remember me as your favorite mistake, your biggest regret. And I will remember you, as the greatest thing to have ever walked into my life.
Don’t date a girl who writes.
Our passion will not keep you alive. It will suck you dry.
We will chew you up, and spit you out, and use your blood as ink.
We will swallow you whole and taste your soul, just so we can have something to write about.
I know you think it’s romantic, but trust me.
The time you unconsciously smiled at your ex will become a two-page essay about how the big bad wolf was so insensitive to little red riding hood’s plight.
The day you forget to do the dishes again will become a metaphor for how you only like to touch dirty things, like us.
The way you replied to our text message a minute too long will become a hundred-word poem about how your hand punched a hole into our chests to squeeze out our black stained lungs.
Don’t mess with us. Don’t break our hearts. Save yourself the trouble.
Don’t date a girl who writes.