3am strings of thought

being a lover girl and wearing my heart on my sleeve is all fun and games until i’m sitting around genuinely wishing that i was a boy so that she would like me more

i was in love with my best friend at fourteen and again at sixteen and again at eighteen and again at nineteen and again at twenty-one. oh, how i wish my favorite people never became lessons.

i am sitting in a coffee shop and i just got my heart broken yesterday. it’s four in the evening and empty in this room, so i am listening to tchaikovsky and staring out at the snow-covered landscape. i am annotating some readings for class tomorrow, carrying on and letting myself feel sadness. i just got my heartbroken yesterday and i’m thinking about how beautiful it is to be human.

no babe i’m not ignoring you, it’s just that january seeps me of every personality trait and spark and leaves me as a husk of what used to be a person

are my parents too gone to be still be soft? am i?

a concept: the idea of soulmates, not as romantic or platonic, but as a secret third option where the love we have for one another transcends such a mundane concept as romance and we are simply two halves of an erupted star who have found our way back to each other on earth

my problem is always that i have so much love inside of me but nowhere to put it. what do i do with it? who will help me carry it?

the love inside of me has always been too bright and overflowing. i try to hand it to someone else and they buckle under the weight.

looked in the mirror and saw hope in my own eyes. maybe i’m changing for the better.

loneliness is the fifteen year old girl inside of me still wondering why nobody ever seems to stay

“you can’t expect everybody to understand you” no, but is it too much to ask for somebody to at least try?

Sometimes I’ll smile back at a stranger walking by and remember that I’m changing for the better

How can you ask me to be calm? How can you call me dramatic when I inherited the type of rage that makes you want to scream until your voice is raw and tear out your hair until your fingernails are broken and bloody, the type of rage that only a wronged woman can feel?