To The Girls Singing Please Please Please (sabrina Carpenter) In The Hollister Dressing Room At The Mall

There was a simple joy in just staying up for a while longer. Consciousness could be exhausting. Often it was. But it could also be sublime. And so there was the option to go to sleep. But you thought you may as well just stay up. There was time to do things, learn things; and you didn’t need to be anywhere tomorrow. So, simply stay awake and keep your mind going for a little longer.

Reblog if you ARE a woman in STEM, SUPPORT women in STEM, or ARE STILL BITTER about Rosalind Franklin not getting credit for discovering the structure of DNA and the Nobel prize going to Watson and Crick instead.

am i girl blog shit posting now?

who knows~

how do i tell her i made it?

all those nights dreaming of what waking up might feel like. all those mornings still stuck in a dream.

how do i tell her that every week day i wake up at six to greet the blue haze outside my window while i dance to the radio station and put on way too much highlighter?

all those hours longing for satisfaction. all those minutes longing for routine.

how do i tell her my days are full of a life which i live?

all those poems praying for my flame. all those prayers poeticizing the mundane.

For I am become the great pretender betrayer of a youthful me

As I pretend not to be bothered by my bff who questions 'why wouldn't you want to be soldja boy?' a youthful me asks my mom for two halloween costumes since you're not allowed to be a bloody zombie little girl with a knife at school in the second grade

As I pretend my bff is right when she says we can't even at the bare minimum be mean girls since 'none of us are blonde' a youthful me describes to my dad the terrible tumble zombie Alice took not only down down the rabbit hole but down down a muddy cliff and that's the reason her hair is brown

As I pretend not to care when my bff calls my guy 'weird' a youthful me demands that if I must date a man he cannot be conventional in any manor

As I pretend to be unharmed by the unexplained absence of my bff at my clubs squid dissection a youthful me is ostracized and abandoned by her only friend

As I pretend the barber cut my hair wrong when my bff tells me 'it's really short' a youthful me wanted purple and blue died hair cut in a shaggy mullet

As I pretend I don't hate my new skin so much that I claw at it raw and bloody a youthful me swore it 'would only be once and I'd never do it again'

The anger was just boiling up. I didn't know what to do with the excess water. It was overflowing the styrofoam cup and I needed to put it somewhere. I needed to throw something. I had to punch someone so hard it hurt me more than it ever hurt them. I grabbed my scalding cup and poured. A whispering drizzle ran down the hill side drilling into the dirt digging at the rocks breaking the dam of soil to bring forth a rushing river. Hurt yourself. I pounded my fist into my thigh. Hurt yourself. I scratched at my arm nails on a chalkboard. Hurt yourself. I didn't stop when I started bleeding. Hurt yourself. My skin was stuck under my nails. Hurt yourself. I was drowning head down in the deep waters so hot it was icy cold to the touch. Hurt yourself. I liked it. That hurt the most.

abstract art he says

i dont much understand it

he says its intriguing

i find questions with no answers

he says in a good way

i tell him i can't stand not knowing

he says im like abstract art

i dont much understand it

it's selfish,

I know it is.

I apologized for it,

which I know means nothing.

yet I still pressed send,

for me not for you.

and I tell you that,

in typed out abbreviated words.

'so sorry chat',

like it fixes my cruelty.

I could've left well enough alone,

but who am I kidding.

my friends wonder why people vape,

when they know it's bad for them.

well why do they procrastinate writing essays?

why do we stay up late on school nights?

why do I scratch and scrape at my scared skin?

why did I press send on that damn message?

it's selfish,

self harm its in the name.

I apologized for it,

which I know means nothing.

I am so fucking sorry,

for all the wrong reasons.

If I were a runner I'd be a sprinter

And if I were a painter I'd never buy varnish

If I were your rich great aunt I'd bore you with stories of a drunken Italy

And if I were a mother I'd eat my children in one sitting

If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom

And if I were a musician I'd have five singles you had to buy separately and burn onto one disk

If I were a writer I'd be a poet

And if I were a poet I'd never breath a word of this to you

for the first time ever i anticipate spring

i am getting used to short hair

i wonder will i ever get used to my scream