When I am old and bedridden I wish for you to lie by my side and let others fill the room with all the flowers. Let us eat their petals, drink their nectar, and breath their perfume. Let us lie together, legs tangled and bodies combined until we can’t tell where I begin and you end. Let me fall away in your arms, so warmed by each other that we become slick with sweat, let me slide off into the underworld.
I want the colors everywhere. Vivid purples, pinks, reds and blues. I want grass green and sun yellow flowers to be all I see aside from your eyes, hair, lips. Shield the window with flowers, let rose vines cling and grow on the frames, I have seen enough ugliness, such evils, let my eyes rest in your palms beside my fading heart beat.
Let my power merge with yours, let my soul live in you, for they are much safer within your powerful ribcage. It’s kept you so safe, your fortress walls, let whatever remains of me hide behind them.
Run your fingers through my silver hair, snow white amongst the flowers, and slow my hectic breaths while nightshade blooms past my lips. Leave me to be devoured by the flowers, leave me to bloom and grow, take my love with you and shut the door tight.
One day the flowers and I will burst through the window, and beauty will flourish in the world once more.
Sometimes I think walls are easier to talk to than people, y’know?
They don’t judge. They don’t give two shits what you’re wearing, what you’re saying.
They may be a little worried that your talking to a wall. A little crazy, y’know, but they don’t judge, man.
Walls are easier, you can’t tell whether their listening or not. They could be ignoring you for all you know. But man, them walls are real polite.
They don’t roll their eyes or look away. They’re present, y’know?
Walls are real sensitive though, they’ve seen and heard a lot, man. Thisbe and Pyramus spoke through a wall. Love went through that wall. It don’t forget that.
People tear ‘em down. But man, walls are everywhere. They don’t mind.
Walls are easier to talk to, they don’t judge, and they don’t reply. You can be babblin’ ‘bout your girl, your sore knee, your shit car. It don’t say nothin’, just nod along, mellow man.
That’s what walls are, mellow, tranquil.
It gets hard sometimes, them walls keep their secrets, they don’t say much. You can’t ask for anything from ‘em except for ‘em to hear what you gotta say and not judge.
Walls are easier to talk to, y’know?
You should try, even if they’re a little sensitive, and think you’re a little crazy.
At least they don’t judge, they don’t reply, just listen.
[video]
I want only one thing from you, and one thing alone. I want you to offer me the world and everything in it, and I’ll accept on one condition.
That you share it with me.
My mother and I were once scouring Bed, Bath, and Beyond for a lemon squeezer. She needed it for another one of her intense dieting/cleansing fasts where she would depend entirely on lemon and salt water.
In the section I pointed out to her a cherry pitter. It was a small silver and black mechanism that removed the seeds of cherries for convenient dining. My boyfriend’s classy gay parents owned one, I pointed out to my mother, who oohed and aahed at the idea.
I could tell we were both contemplating purchase, it was a little pricey, a little bit more extravagant than we were used to, but perhaps we could splurge. Just this once. My mother broke the silence by saying she liked the pits in her mouth, and then turning and beginning to walk away from the aisle.
It was defiance and surrender all at once. We weren’t good enough for it, we were lower middle class working folk. We ate our cherries from the box and spat them out into bowls. And like hell we’d admit for a moment that it was lesser than us to do so.
Even though, as we walked away in resistance to expensive and indulgent simplicity, my mothers eyes lingered longer than they should have.
- Classy women.
- Guys being gentlemen.
- cute ass relationships.
- Racism
- Sexism
- Homophobia
- Illness
- Segregation
- Cold War
- Constant threat of nuclear war
But I mean the vintage bombshelters are sooo totally cute
(Source: ourlovestheperfectcrimee, via mywildebeest)
I just love her, I love the sign. It’s complete genius.
My childhood = completely destroyed, one pic at a time.
