I’m a fickle thing to love.

I’m like a wild animal.

I’ll only come if you beckon, not if you call. I’ll struggle if held tight, but nose at you lovingly if you sit still and wait. A hand around my wrist triggers fight or flight, but a hand on the back of my neck melts my resolve. 

I’m not quite a thing that can be kept.

But I am a thing that can be caught. And I will scratch and bite my way free.

Until you know that you could have had me, if you’d just let me be. 

I kept myself awake thinking about how much I want to just taste her.

Am I the type of girl you’d take home to Ma?

That you’d introduce to your dad with a straight face and no disclaimers?

Am I the type of girl you’d bring to your room? Who your dad would high five you for nailing? Who your mom would shake her head at fondly?

Am I the type of girl you’d have over for family meals? Who could sit next to you. Who you’d look at with pride?

Or am I the type of girl you’d hide?

I like-like a boy now.

Its been so long that I didn’t even notice for a while.

It was like 8pm at night and I was sitting in theatre rehearsal and I was like “Jeez. This is the fifth time I’ve thought about this guy all day. Usually I only think this much about fandom. What the fuck is going on.”

Then I was like “Wait. Think about what would happen if he let you hold his hand.” and then I had to control my smiling lest people think I’m some kind of mad-person/freak as I sit there grinning and no one has said anything at all to me. 

And then I realized that this is what having a crush is like. 

I haven’t had a legit crush on someone in over 6 years. Usually I just sleep with people or date them because I can. Or see someone I like and just snatch them up and wring them dry. 

But now my face gets all hot and my heart skips beats and I’m all types of awkward acting and I JUST WANT IT TO STOP. 

I keep thinking about the time I almost kissed her.

We had been together the whole night. Her boyfriend was coming over to her house so she was rushing. 

It was so dark out and my heart was so fucking full.

She hugged me good bye and bent to kiss my cheek but the angle wasn’t exactly right.

That second of adjustment was the longest in the world, when we pulled back and looked at each other, then pressed our cheeks together in the airy sort of kiss socialites and drag queens give away like they’re worthless.

And when I pulled back, my fingers skimming the whippet thin curve of her ribs, our eyes met and we knew.

She knew.

She fucking knew.

and I couldn’t tell her I loved her, or pull her to me dramatically and kiss her like they do in movies because I was scared and the timing wasn’t right.

The timing would never be right.

Because I can’t snatch two people apart from each other with the brute force of my desire, and I can’t kick our friend group apart to taste a dream.

And I’m not frustrated  because I know this is my choice.

But I wish I could share the depth of my sacrifice with someone else who knows her as well as I do, who can understand why I always want to hold her hand. 

Incubus

A boy with a face like winter and hair like a typhoon. Hands for grabbing, hips for holding, and lips that snarl and groan.

Sink into his veins like morphine, rush through his highways, past the roan and bark. 
Finding and tasting; twisting and writhing together like unformed twins in the dark.

And when I’ve gobbled up all his secrets –black and white alike, 
I’ll push them into my heart. Keep them safe from storm and strife.

This boy, with eyes so dark, will stand before the world,
with a crown made of my fingers  nestled in his curls.

And feel the weight of all its worth, the finest rarest gift on earth.

Today is my birthday.

I am 21 years old today.

252 months

1095 weeks

7671 days

184,108 hours

11,046,507 minutes of breathing, laughing, sleeping, loving, hating, reading, thinking, desiring, feeling,                       dying.

Happy birthday Kayla,

From Kayla.

I love you. Always.

Sometimes I just want to pull you to me and absorb all of your doubts and fears and hold them in my chest behind my ribs, like a prison. Because I’m strong and I can take it, but you’re too beautiful to die.

Going to see the last boy I ever actualy loved on wednesday.

I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten fatter since we last saw each other.

But I have gotten better at putting on my makeup and therefore prettier?

Does one negate the other?

Oh fuck it, i’m scared.

ryannnnnnnnnnn