jjjessli:

after frank o’hara

You do not always know what I am feeling. 
Last night, in the tangled web of a single sheet,
next to the unused condom on the top of my dresser,
it was my own lack of control that set me ablaze.
Isn’t it strange? That margarita mix could betray
me like that? In a room full of people I love–
my face flushed from one too many—I can feel
so tender I could break. This isn’t about you,
or me, though it is more about me, I admit: this is
about a history that exists without us,
strangers in the footnotes of a book no one
has opened. Isn’t it odd, how the burden of
stories I don’t know presses into my chest, cuts
me open, and you deal with the wetness of
my face in your shoulder.

You do not know if I love you.
I can say with confidence, more than I’ve ever had,
that I do not know either. If you find that odd,
you are not alone; if you ever feel overwhelmed,
you are not alone. On top of me, you apologize—
you’re tired. There’s too much pressure.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager, so entrenched
in my own heat. Can I correct myself?
I’m not crying because of you—I’m crying for
everything I couldn’t say, the inexpressibility topos,
all the classes I’ve missed this semester, people
I couldn’t rescue from the fire of my own tirade.
Put out your hand, and isn’t there my hand inside
of yours? Is this enough, do you think? For now?

everyone on my dash rn be real w me is tumblr still relevant?

bepeu:

me: *checks my bank account*

me: ‘there are no facts , only interpretations’ -nietzsche