me: im so tired, i could collapse into bed and sleep for a year..
me: gets in bed
me: how was earth created
me: who made microwaves
me: how does the internet even work
me: i'm hungry
me: feels bad about something i did 4 years ago
me: remembers 73 unfinished tasks
me: too tired to sleep
You were the most beautiful creature
the way you laid in bed
with your hair against my pillow sheets;
touching me like you knew me,
smiling as if you didn’t have a care in the world.
There was a wall between us.
A space despite how you held
our bodies together like glue.
Truth is, we’re just a bunch of lonely people,
sad souls bumping into each other,
using each other in an attempt to forget
all the people who have broken us.
I can still taste her name on your lips
and I can tell I don’t taste
half as good as she does but still
I was drawn to you,
a hiding place inside your arms
like two moths finding warmth
in the coldness of my bedroom
(I think we both needed this).
You kissed winter into my mouth
and at once I knew I wasn’t empty
despite the months I thought I’d lost
the summer in my blood, fearing I’d
never be touched by another body.
Your heart beat against my chest
almost as fast as mine did so I
allowed the snow in your voice
to melt onto my skin.
You kissed my hair and
got out of bed like nothing happened,
but I smiled because you knew
all my terrible secrets
yet you still stayed and looked at me
Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | Beautiful Creatures
My take on a poem inspired by the great Marianna Paige
Part two of this poem is To The Boy Who Played With Fire
friendly reminder that even if u don’t have a date for feb. 14th you can still be ur own valentine!! make yourself some fruity tea, reread your favorite book, go on an adventure outdoors, paint until you run out of colors, cook yourself a new meal, show yourself lots of love
just cause you don’t have a significant other doesn’t mean u have to feel lonely. the best person to love and be around is you!!
A girl in my Sociology class turns around during a class activity on goals to start a conversation with me. Her opening line is: ‘I want to get married.’ I nod and smile. She does not ask me my goals, just continues telling me the sort of guy she’d like to be with and how many kids she’d like. Thoughtfully, she adds, ‘My mom told me to meet someone and marry them. You don’t wanna date around because you wanna be fresh for the guy and not a….you know what.’
My cousin’s Facebook ‘About Me’ lists things she would like in a man. There is nothing about her or the things she does, only qualities she finds attractive. ‘Looking for someone who can play the guitar and cook a great dinner,’ she wrote. I can hear her bubbly, singsong voice while reading it. She is thirteen years old and has told me that girls ‘oughta only kiss their husbands and that’s it.’ When I ask her what she wants to be when she’s older she says, ‘Married.’
My male friend tells me that he has no problem with what girls do, but that he would not date a girl who’s ‘been around’ because she’d be ‘dirty.’ I wonder if each time someone touches you, a part of you is soiled. If there are piles of dirt in the spaces where others’ fingers once rested. In the shower, I try to scrub the smell of dirt from myself, but come out, still polluted, with red scratch marks all over me.
Being called a ‘you know what’ taught me some things: that I do not want to be touched by somebody who will judge my past. That I am not a tally book, with others’ names burned into me. If you have to label me as something, let it be a human being.”
Upside down in each pack
But I hate that people notice
When you gain three pounds,
But not when you buy a new hat.
I’ve been told that the way I sleep
With one leg draped over
The person lying next to me
But I think it’s annoying
When people tell me
I look pretty,
But only when I paint my face.
I’ve heard that old men
Like to touch the girls who work late at bars,
But I want to know
Why they never kiss the women they married
forty-two years ago.
I’ve noticed that mothers teach their daughters
That it’s rude to refuse a hug
From an uncle they’ve met three times,
But forget to teach them
That they aren’t obliged to kiss
The boy who paid for dinner.”