Wanderlust

“My mind is a wishbone drying. I hold it taut & pull to break.”

There comes a point when you have to hold the man responsible for what he did. I have decided it’s degrading to say I let him. I say my name into the open cellar covering my eyes. I will lead myself out of it.

There will be a time when this heavy sadness does not own me. I can imagine the loneliness 

this for retail workers only

yeah I seen one of my niggas get written up for telling a customer to go home because they were begging to come into the store 15 minutes after we’d closed and locked the doors.

I got fired for telling a customer I’m specifically not allowed to open my drawer to make change from one of his bills. He then proceeded to just grab one of the bills off my keyboard while the drawer was open and angrily tell me to just give him the change, the exact amount. I said calmly “I know how to make change sir” which apparently ticked him off so much he called later curious and chewed out my manager and said he was going to call corporate. My manager asked me what happened, I explained, he CHECKED the fucking camera and verified it and said in situations where a customer snatches a bill and replaces it with another one I should just call a manager because they have no way of knowing if there’s something up with it. Then a week or so later they fired me.

dbrand (a phone case/Graphic Design company) is probably the closest I’ve seen to that, they will literally tell their customers to go fuck themselves if they try throwing tantrums about product. But they’re an all-around cool company so they get away with it because most people know that’s how they are.

here you go! :)

“Ask her what she craved, and she’d get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom.”

This is not what I wanted when I prayed to become softer What I want to say is: this world hurts me to extents unbearable And the balm of love Of my head in a man’s lap Is a torn photograph is a backwards glance

so you did not so much fall in love as love tipped her chrome-crowned head into your lap, and the mechanical whirr of her hair as it slipped into place softened into something that sat still in your chest, rough and quiet and full, and                you let it.

“This grief opens my mouth / and speaks your name.”