Sorry

cannibalized by my own jealousy

Envy consumes like a starving fire, Devouring all that's in its ire, Ripping apart what's not its own, Gnashing teeth, breaking bone.

Claws reach out to grab and shred, Leaving nothing but crimson red, Territorial in its gruesome feast, Not a scrap left for even the beast.

Digesting every ounce of worth, Leaving only an empty dearth, Jealousy spares no part or limb, Tearing apart even the strongest vim.

A monster within, hungry and vile, Feasting on envy, keeping it on trial, Until it has destroyed all in its path, Leaving just a carcass, in aftermath.

the little things

Sometimes, when I feel the way I do, I like to think about the little things. 

The little things that make life worth living. 

(at least for a while)

Like the way blushes grow on human cheeks. 

Little things like the sound that can be only heard when rain and laughter marry. 

Like lighting a candle while you start a new book. 

The perfect little notification you waited all day for. 

The way making someone else laugh sits on your chest for a while. 

The way blades of grass fit neatly between your toes

The completion of a simple task. 

The sound a dog’s collar makes as it walks. 

(it's the little things)

It's the tiniest of things too. 

The three-feet-distance between the desks of two friends.

That one freckles that girl you barely speak to anymore, but still makes you laugh. 

The glitter in someone’s eye that just never leaves.

The smallest possible paper crane that you made in class last Tuesday. 

(it's the little things)

It's also the big things. 

Like the first kiss you had that really mattered. 

Like the letter you never thought you’d get.

Knowing that she’s okay, even if you aren’t. Not anymore. 

It’s the realization that you understand. Even though it's a bit too late

But most of all it's the little things.

in the pilot jackie teases shauna abt her “catholic phase” and to that shauna responds that she liked the saints bc she thought they were “so tragic”. in the last ep of s1 during their fight the first insult shauna calls jackie is tragic. she calls her other things too but its so intresting that the first thing she thinks of is tragic. to me thats like a freudian slip. jackie was shaunas saint.

I feel like a whore. 

Used and disgusting. 

Why did I say yes?

I thought it would make me feel better about myself. 

It didn’t.

Why didn’t it?

Why?

I've betrayed God.

And for what?

Some girl I barely know?

(I've known her my whole life.)

She doesn't love me.

I don’t love myself.

first base is putting your cigarettes out on each other second base is psychosexual obsession third base is murder-suicide

Joan Baez performing I Never Will Marry, c. 1958

she has little moon earrings- i have star clips in my hair. she goes to the local community college and plans on transferring to the major university- im in a sorority and my life is intertwined in the large school's greek life. she's a local- im seven hours away. she grew up on vast expanses of land, caring for life and surrounded by her family's love- i grew up in a cluttered house that sucked the soul out of anyone who dares to enter and every time I go home i lose a little part of myself. she listens- i talk. she calls be pretty and for once, i believe it. she smiles and i laugh in her tiny car and we stare at each other in the lamp light of a small parking lot after missing our desert reservations. she walks me to my car and we both ask if we could kiss each other, our laughter ringing in the air next to the papa john's we had to bathroom break in because we asked at the same time. she hesitates so i pull her in and it isn't rushed or desperate, it's just gentle and full of potential for something beautiful and she cradles my face and my hands are on her hips and we're next to my beat up car. she tastes like the chocolate milkshake from earlier that night and i can only assume i taste of the cigarette i smoked earlier on that she called "hot". she is a middle child and im the eldest and we still talk and she didn't ghost me and oh, I think something beautiful can come out of this.

Old friend

I am so glad you are back

That you weren't gone for too long. 

But I know it hurts.

The decision you made was hard, and I feel as though I don’t deserve it. 

I don’t deserve to be the reason you chose to be happy. 

The reason you chose to leave her. 

It feels nice, I suppose. 

Like coming home. 

Like wrapping myself in an old quilt.

But it also feels like exactly what it is. 

Coming back to an old friend.  

Journal Page #3

My dream life