Before therapy and Twitter, there was the journal. Or if you’re a zoomer, there was the Notes app. The Notes app is a dark place. An outlet for your teenage angst and entirely lacking in capital letters. Don’t lie, we know you cried over a 14 year-old fuckboi. Rupi Kaur and Roslyn by Bon Iver were far too popular for there to be no fallout. Unfortunately for me, fallout took the form of a bad collection of bad poetry, which I have since ignored and tried to erase from memory. I think we all did that (unless you’re one of those people who watch horror movies for pleasure and thus, enjoy reliving your nightmares.) Until now. I have decided, mostly for humor reasons but partly for self-destructive ones, to revisit my high school feelings. And because I’m clearly a dramatic little bitch (see below), I’m doing it in front of an audience.
You burned red. And I stayed buried in ashes.
Literally, who am I even talking about? Apparently a passionate and mysterious lover, and not that boy who one time in sophomore year called me a coral reef because of acne.
she tastes like coffee and madness
(this is actually your entire brand now that you’re a ~college student~)
something her lips deceive
the mouths of the boys that will kiss her
and the torment of those that will leave
I’m pretty sure that at this point, the most action I had gotten was like, a hug from like, a girl. It’s nice that it rhymes though.
whatever you did after that seems inconsequential
when your callouses could combat my bricks
The irony of the fact that all these second-person callouts seem very pointed, yet I have absolutely no clue who the f*ck I’m going on about is not lost on me. Oh, and I’m still actively trying to rebrand as ‘tough girl with walls’ but cigarettes are really expensive.
It takes more than strength to find this peace of mind
Ok, so this is very obviously a song lyric. At least I had good taste in music. (https://open.spotify.com/track/5ZLCyAR6Ti5ueOiPGl41XH?si=C4q0sF7GTKaqM05QcyD9qw)
And finally,
An observation:
Drinking coffee on highways is an extreme sport
Great observation, dude.
Thank you for going on this self-indulgent and masochistic journey with me. If you would like to do the same, tell your Mom (before she tries to send you your diary from back home) that Mail Services is only accepting USPS. And/or backup your Cloud.
Image via Buzzfeed.