I kissed a girl
Wearing a cross
Around her neck
Her lips didn’t taste
Like church
But her hips
Felt like god
I wonder what
Her pastor would
Have thought
I wonder if that
Cross around her neck
Meant more to me
Than it does
To her

Jesse Feinman, An Atheist on a date  (via uoa)

(via uoa)


I told you not to let me go
When you wrapped your arms around
Me but
I forgot that you couldn’t hear my thoughts like I hear them ringing in my head
Cause like
My vocal chords don’t project
Like they used to.
Too many words make it to my throat
But never end up rolling off the


it’s okay to cut the bad parts out of your life, even if they were the favorite parts for a long time.  i just want to know who i am without the influence of another person and put myself before everyone else for once in my life. 

Sour Patch Kids

Red sweater
I bled on you in bed and
You told me it was ok
I cried while you were in the shower
But you told me it was ok
I bled on you
I cried on you
I slept with you
We laughed-
But in the end
You said you weren’t ok.
I don’t usually think of you before I go to sleep but
This memory keeps popping into my head
But it’s not one I wish to keep.


i jump too fast

so fast that i forget whether the bottom of each cliff is

lined with water or rocks.

lately i just end up cracking my head open

instead of drowning.


i don’t think i am a very good friend-

you see-

because i talk about me more that i let you

talk about your tea ceremonies 

which i don’t even know if you take classes for


because thats how little we talk about you and

i miss when you told mrs. mcdevitt her lesson was bullshit because


and you left the class and

i was there for that and

you and i were friends.

now i feel like we’re just pretending because i don’t let you speak

and you don’t let me live without repremand and

i don’t care that you care except i do

but i never let anyone touch my opinions anymore.

i’m sorry.


curly haired boys make me dizzy

following each loop on their head

wondering where it will lead you to.

it’s like when you see someone on the subway and your eyes

slide over each limb

starting with their fingers or

their toes

and ending at a cuffed sleeve or the hem of their


wondering what is underneath their clothes.


always wondering. 

but never getting close enough to feel the texture of their skin or

slip a finger in each curl.

i don’t know.

everyone is pathetic. 

Not Bad Closure

and it’s funny how your voice was never carved into my memory

after all the times i replayed that voicemail of

your fake apology.

i’m sure it wasn’t fake at the time but

as i listen to it now i hear nothing but a whine 

in your voice. i used to hit replay to see if i

still felt


for you but-

when i heard your voice there were no changes in my stomach

and i could still breathe through my lungs. indifference. 

no hatred or resentment

and definitely no love.

so what was it?

what was the sound i heard before we didn’t say goodbye to each other for the last time?

connecticut filtered the sound of your voice like

a government radio

and now i don’t remember a single word that came through that speaker.

but i’m happy that the plank of wood underneath you feels better than

the heat of my body.

because i realized that four hours of drunk sex

wasn’t worth the damage from the weight of your fears that pressed against my chest.


i deleted you from my life 

along with your whiney voicemail. 


Every day she asks me why i won’t get up.

Every day i lay there, letting her words drown me like my bed covers, while i try to think of an answer:


who refused to drink society’s kool-aid, 

am so wrapped up in romantic comedies i literally

get sick after stalking each plot line in order to figure out the criteria

i’m supposed to hold, each MAN who walks into my life,



who refused to drink the kool-aid

bathed in it instead

allowing it to still seep into my pores and

hinder my own thoughts of how i want to be treated.

or how i want to love.

i am just like every other stupid


out there. 

so when you ask me why i hate to get up in the morning

hate to go to school and hate to “hop in loser we’re going shopping”

maybe it’s because i’d rather sleep forever than

dissolve into the crowd just like everyone else.

just like you.

But these thoughts never pry through my lips as words. 

instead i mumble “five more minutes”

just like every



in the movies.