The Joy Scribbles

Don't ask me to stay.  God don't ask me to.  I'm not sure I can say No and  I'm not the type of woman who makes a home out of boys without corrupting them.  I'm not the kind woman who can sit still.  I fidget a lot.  My eye wonders even more.  and I don't know if I still remember how to love a boy without breaking them. And God, you're beautiful. you're beautiful just the way you are  and I know you want to teach me how to make a home.  but no matter how many cakes I bake and casseroles I make  you'll never be enough.  because I have a never ending urge to love a lot more than people.  Maybe if you come with me I'll try harder.  Maybe if you give me a little space to leave, I'll come home to you. maybe, I can think of you as a place.  As a station my train needs to pass through  because if you make yourself a box to put me in  I will burn you.  I will claw at...

You are 4 the first time someone uses you to put someone else down. The first time your aunt tells your cousin, "You are dark and ugly and she is light and beautiful. who will love you?" And you can taste the acid in your cousin's eyes when she looks at you. But when her daughter is born she calls her dark and ugly. and your aunts laugh. but you cry. You cry because you've never seen a baby shine so bright. Because you can remember the taste of acid in your cousin's eyes. Someone taught you that you were Dark and Ugly baby. Don't teach your daughter.

"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.