I want to be there for you right now. Whether you’re scared or not, I’m positive you’re feeling uncertain.
I have no answers. I am one clueless writer chick who occasionally has thoughts she is too afraid to share, about topics that terrify her. So instead she tells stories about herself? What a narcissistic cunt.
I don’t care much that no one reads this. Maybe that’s strange, but I really can’t be fucked to be sad about it. What I do care about though, is that you, my sweet friend, feel better after reading. Or heard. Or thoughtful or excited. That you feel something apart from the fear we are so familiar with.
And I mean, this fear is very real. We should feel fear in a way that inspires action, absolutely. BUT, it isn’t always the best state to be in when trying to care for yourself or the people you love.
So for your reading pleasure, my smoking hot reader, I have taken to the floor, which, by the way, is way more comfortable than anyone gives it credit for. The floor? Can’t recommend it enough. My spine? Straight as hell. Me? We’ll get into that eventually, but I digress.
So from the floor, my saucy reader, I bring you my thoughts unfiltered. Why I put my twitter drafts on this platform when I am too afraid to tweet them makes very little sense to me, but some bangers have accumulated, and they are begging to be shared.
Again I dip into my twitter drafts, and again, I make clear my inability to feel embarrassed online.
Buckle up, my red hot reader.
great fucking song or great, fucking song
I don’t tell people I’m bisexual, not because I’m afraid of their opinion, but because i’m embarrassed that no girls are into me.
how dare you go, “bleep bloop” –I say to my speaker, as it too, dies.
I have those eyes that somehow let strangers know I am here solely to be told weird stuff and it is my most treasured asset.
an endless void you say?
listening to the Naropa archives and all the readings begin, “if you cannot restrain yourselves PLEASE go to the door to smoke.”
these are for me this too is for me
god bless us* everyone
*ppl who also pass out at work from period pain
today I told a customer my fantasy of donald drowning in all the blood he’s responsible for spilling so yeah, gonna have to find a new gig soon.
a depth of sadness previously known only to the occupants of the jcrew factory outlet.
idk i think I’m prolly appropriately rated
I only open Spotify for heartbreak purposes
and I bet that famous couple super care about your take and are not way too busy being hot and cool.
haven’t knocked around town in a good bit aye
if i saw Timothee Chalamet on the street I would simply hold my breath so that precious angel didn’t blow away
so many songs about being 17. You know what kinda rhymes with 17 and fits just as nicely? 23. Just a lil note.
Thank you, my dear reader.
Remember that you are not empty or helpless, and that feeding that story won’t do you any favors.
Love you so much.
Girl Seeking Peanut Butter 