The Joy Scribbles

"Stop holding your breath and chanting prayers that I do not break myself. " "I can't help but worry. you're asking me to trust a stranger with your heart" "I'm asking you to trust me" "How did that work out the last time?" "I know. I know. I break myself on boys. but you're making me anxious. Just breathe" "I'm trying." You can't help but chant and hold your breath and I just wish you'd breath. Because it's a lot harder to be happy when you're worried your friend is dying from hoping you'll be fine. 

You. It's Saturday night and you're holding your breath. staring at your phone. Hoping that tonight will be the night he calls to say  "I love you. I should have never left" But it's almost 2 am now. You can feel the make up melting off your face. You can smell the undertones of your favorite scent.  You know him well.  His flight is at 6am. He should have called by now.  He should have knocked on your door with flowers in his hand.  You should have been smoking post make up sex.  You suddenly realize he isn't coming and you can't help but try not to cry. 

Has anyone told you that you taste of Sunday mornings? Not the kind after a night out. not the hurling, hurting kind. You know that crisp I just woke up at 10 am with nothing to do but love you Sunday morning? That, "do you want pancakes or waffles? Ice cream or whipped cream? Tea or Coffee?" That, how many movies do you think we can squeeze in between laughter and your moans? That, how many chapters will you let me read before you brush your fingers too close to my inner thighs and I can't help but breath a little too loud for you to ignore? You taste the way a lone cloud looks on a sunny blue sky, and the way a breeze feels rustling through a canopy of trees. Did I tell you that?

Roses i. "you must be suicidal to love her" has been a joke for so long I had begun to believe that my purpose was to break boys. So I have never let one stick around long enough to prove us wrong, but God I hope you stay.  ii. I keep praying I do not fuck this up.  iii. Do Not Fuck This Up. Do Not Fuck This Up. iv. Wild hearts cannot be broken. So maybe that's why I'm not scared of loving you. v. I have met my match. I can't help but laugh at how funny that sounds.  vi. As though I was a puzzle and you were the last piece.  vii. Dear God. Thank you for him. viii. How did I go from one prayer before bed to every time you cross my mind I have to let God know "thank you for the extra help that came wrapped in black excellence" ix.. My flowers are wilting and I want to cry because the only thing that has made me this happy in so long is you. x. They're kinda turning black now which makes me laugh because you did want to get me black ...

The first time he says he loves you,  you ask if he remembers when you were ten and your dog died.  If he remembers the hug he gave you.  He says yes.  You tell him that was the last time a hug put you together,  and you wish you guys were ten again because 17 is a terrible age to fall in love. 

They will write about you when you are gone.  Sluggish Poetry and Lazy Flung together words  about how often you forgot to tell yourself you were important. They will remember the way you broke yourself on words  and carried yourself on one too many shots.  How you danced on tables and everyone could still see your demons. How you dragged yourself out of bed on Sunday mornings to write about Saturday nights and beer stains and cigarette burns you couldn't remember getting.  And How different that stuff was to the time when you wrote about the revolutions in your mind.  You will not be able to call them LIARS.  You will not be able to say you were not trying to kill yourself all the 6 times you crashed your car.  Only the first.  And they will say R.I.P my best friend. They will download your pictures and tag you.  They will say she was so loving deep inside and you will not be able to show them the monster that...

“ his fingers are cold on the white ridges of my hipbones. scar territory, flinch territory, missed-the-sad but-found-the-blood territory. he says, “girls like you are so hot,” and his breath is the desert wind, is a sun i cannot run from, is a waterless river, “you messy ones are always the best ones in bed,” and i actually almost laugh at it last night while the rest of the world was asleep i was lying awake counting slowly back from one thousand hoping that this time i would find the strength to say no to the darkness i am pretty for an ugly girl. i am cute for someone so broken. i am almost worth the high-maintenance, the texts i send in desperation, the food i won’t touch that you spent hours making, the fact i push away literally all of my friends girls like me are so hot. we are red dwarf stars. we are burning up in the sky of your sheets. we will do anything just to stop thinking. we are open fires, we are the forest turning to ashes. we have destroyed everything close...