I'm a pretty impossible lady to be with.

I’ve gained some weight but you don’t care. And when you look at me, I see the same hunger in your eyes as that first night. My body’s stretched and I’m self conscious about the markings but you still run your fingers across my hips with no hesitation. I don’t know if I’m beautiful but I know that you think so.

DIY GUIDE TO KILLING OFF ALL BOREDOM Go outside. Scream your name into The Void. Sit in the sun and feel godlike. Cook a nine-course meal for your friends. Ride a train. Ride a bus. Smash something important. Climb a tree and read a book. WRITE a book. Be sweet to a baby and let them know all big people aren’t a) dead inside, b) angry, or c) afraid of adventure. Make your own everything. Stay up all night and walk around the city alone. Learn that you can be a patriot for the land while still hating the government (be a patriot for the deserts, the plains, the mountains, the buffalo, for Woody Guthrie and Frederick Douglas, for 250 years of good books). Find the best genius, which is the genius that speaks plainly. Grow something from a seed. Talk to a dog. Go visit a friend and throw your knife into a river. Sing. Sleep in. Quit your job. Make a zine. Start a war within yourself. Destroy all uncandid thought. Open your heart to the sky. Live.