the gypsy queen

Wanna know the fucking truth? Nobody is fucking happy. Nobody has skin made from oil paint and sunlight. Nobody fucking understands this world. Fuck, nobody probably understands math as much as they claim. You’re here one day and the next you’re not. God? Religion? I’ve learned a lot more about the world by eating acid and swallowing pills. Tell me what your church has done for you? Tell me if you have holes in your mouth from speaking lies? Wanna know the fucking truth? Pity is just another word for pathetic. Drink beer and watch the sunrise from every rooftop. Take photographs naked. Take photographs kissing. Take photographs having sex. Stop making everything about sexuality. Wanna know the fucking truth? Nobody really gives a damn if you lost your virginity at fourteen or if you were the president in high school. Wanna know the fucking truth? There is no such thing as the right person. People leave. They change like ocean currents, they leave you with bruises in your calves. And you wanna know the fucking truth? You get better. You learn to love. You find God in between the cracks of a wall when you’re puking your limbs out. You wanna know the fucking truth? Go find it.

“I wanted to kill myself and you were yelling about dirty dishes”

“I know girls who spill I’m sorry’s from their mouths like they pump blood to their veins. Sometimes, I am one. I know girls who apologize for asking to go to the bathroom in class, who apologize for everything because they feel like they are taking up more than their fair share of space on this planet. Everything starts with an I’m sorry and ends with one too, constant bookends that we don’t even notice anymore. We delete her apology the way we delete likes and ums from speech. I know girls with ten times more apologies than misdemeanours and I wonder how often they hear It’s okay. You’re more than okay.”