““I kissed a feminist once,”
he says, face flushed blotchy, something heavy resting on his shoulders maybe “I kissed a feminist once,”
and everybody laughs “she was cold as ice,” he says
and he doesn’t mention how I turned warm beneath his fingers,
heated up like embers and reduced his bed to flame and ashes “God was she mean,” he says
but he hasn’t forgotten the time
I told him to be kind to himself, to
purge the poison from his veins and
scrape the smoke from his lungs “I love you I love you I love you”
I said,
“please love yourself too” “I kissed a feminist once,”
he says, to loud guffaws,
an elbow in his side
and he doesn’t say “her lips
were the softest thing to ever brush
my collar bone”
he doesn’t say “she made playlists in my mind”
or “she covered me like a blanket”
or “her teeth on my earlobe ripped me open and scattered me across the sheets of her twin bed”
he doesn’t say “I loved that storm of a girl,
I loved her heavy at 4am I loved her like pennies
at the bottom of a fountain like memorized freckles I loved her like depth perception
like opposable thumbs I loved her I loved her I loved her”
and instead he shrugs that heavy thing off his shoulders
and shrugs the feel of my lips off his chest and he says, “she was a crazy bitch anyway””
“Introverts, in contrast, may have strong social skills and enjoy parties and business meetings, but after a while wish they were home in their pajamas. They prefer to devote their social energies to close friends, colleagues, and family. They listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation. They tend to dislike conflict. Many have a horror of small talk, but enjoy deep discussions.”
“how to love a mortal: i.
stay away from him. gods
do not love. you are a god.
do not love something
that will someday die. ii.
small-boned, soft-hearted,
voice smooth as stones.
when he breaks his ankle
you think to yourself:
oh, how easily the world
wounds him. oh, how easily he bleeds. iii.
he kisses you first. he is thirteen and human
and he will someday die.
do not kiss him back. iv.
you say: mother, can
a god love a boy?
thetis sharpens her teeth.
she says: well, what good has love ever done? v.
you were born a weapon
but you kiss him anyway.
you kiss him because he is beautiful and temporary
and you do not yet understand
what it means to kill. vi.
making love to him feels
like being remade, doesn’t it?
here, the knife in his mouth.
here, the starlight in his eyes.
here, his sweat on your tongue
like salt of the river Styx. vii.
in this dream, you
kill Agamemnon.
in this dream, there is no war.
in this dream, he lives forever. viii.
he puts your clothes on
and you forget he is mortal.
he puts your clothes on
and he forgets it, too. ix.
when the world burned,
your mother whispered:
you knew, didn’t you? i told you not to love something that will someday die. x.
you do not say:
i knew, but i was selfish. i am a god. it is my nature.”
“how to love a god: i. stay away from him. legends
are never boys. gods
were never people. gods
do not love. ii. despise him. who does he think he is? the proud jaw,
those seaborne arms, fleeting sparrow-feet planted on the earth as if the world belonged to him? iii. watch. the quick turn of
mouth, the gold of his hair backlit
against the sun shining like a halo.
if you get too close he’ll burn you
to ash. if you get too close
he’ll destroy you. iv. watch him watch you. v. when he kisses you back hold your breath. do not breathe.
you are only a small and foolish boy chasing the tail of a meteor
destined for the heavens. if
you breathe, you will burn. vi. making love to him feels
like building a home, doesn’t it?
here, the oars of his shoulders. here, the temple of his thighs.
here, his mouth whispering
your name in worship. vii. when the war comes watch his laughter grow cold and
his hands tender themselves red.
that is a statue in your bed.
that is a man turned to stone
from ten thousand stares. viii. you put on his clothes on
to save him from himself. you put his clothes on
to spend your last breath
inside him again. ix.
you know what will happen
and you do it anyway. you burn because this is what
it means to love. this is what
it means to fly. x.
recall the tale of Icarus.
choose to be Icarus.”
“I miss you, but not in the way that I need you
or that I won’t be able to go on without you.
There are so many attachments when telling someone that you miss them. There are so many
different meaning to that phrase,
or to that confession. So many different ways
to how a person can perceive those words.
I want to tell you that I miss you but I don’t want it
to seem as if I am hopeless without you. Sometimes I wander off to places
that remind me of you. I can see you standing
beside me admiring the scenery in which
we lost ourselves in. I can see us creating memories
with the wind, with the sunset, with the feel
of day turning into night. Don’t think that I am not myself without you, or that I need you here at every moment
to remember that it’s going to be okay.
Just know that I miss you, and if I could
I would take your voice over the silence any day.”
— “I miss you but I’ll be okay,” - Colleen Brown (via purincesszelda)
