I begged for the world to be still but that’s like asking my Mother Nature to not give me dragon breaths and hail storms so I stopped.

The raindrops danced on my eyelids and the orchestra of winds passed between my fingers and on my cheeks was warmth.

I sulk.

Tiptoeing isn’t so difficult after nails have chipped away and the cold makes the blood trickle down my ankles to freeze midway.

I asked myself where depth came from and I thought the cosmos. I thought the stars and the sun and the moon and the black holes contained so much depth and that is where you came from.

I am foreign but I am not from there. My parents asked for slugs, snails, and puppy dog tails but I tell you I am of pugs, hail, and dragon scales. I am foreign.

She asked me from where I came from and I gave her stereotypical propaganda that my dad thinks I am or something I should be and she was hooked.

When I was eleven I took a bite from the forbidden fruit and learned the word sexuality painted across my naked body.

I sulk.

I am an emotional person with emotionless eyes and an emotionless mind.
I am emotional.

How can a contradiction be a contradiction when it is walking and talking and breathing like he is normal? Like he sits and thinks like a person who sips lemonade instead of guilt and swallows down pills instead of confidence.
I am safe.

What is curiosity without having seven lives and whiskers?
Adam and Eve weren’t felines but they knew anyways. They took a bite without fear and I jumped off a hundred story building without empathy.
I am fine.

Self destruction took me by my eyes, hugged, choked me and said, “I am disappointed in you.”

I turned back around and there she was. Beautiful, alluring, someone I knew how to love.

“Cuddle with me,” she said.
“Hold me,” I said.
“I want a girl,” he said.

I sulk.

veeigd:

What do nosy peppers do?

They get… jalapeño business.

Drew, how did you know? How did you know that the dryness is my favorite color?

Under my fingernails is dirt and sand, which doesn’t compare to how much is left in the cracks of my knees and the desert in my voice that has nothing but the streams of blood that make the string quartet play songs of burgundy.

I turn my head.

Crack.

I take a step backward.

Crack.

I lay down and let the cracks play me off-rhythmic runs of percussion from a spine of scoliosis but finally I can feel the cotton against my cheeks and my toes recognize its home underneath the cooling fabric and I taste the taste of salene again.

oohanaia:

When I’m a parent, I’ll know that I don’t want to leave my kids vulnerable and insecure, unable to open up to me. I’ll know that who I’m with if I divorce would affect them but also know that divorce would leave the same scars as well. I’ll know better not to let them tell me that they’re “fine” or “just tired” because I know better and how it feels. I’ll make sure I’m hard on them too so they won’t be soft and unable to care for themselves. I won’t let them feel unwanted or unloved because I know how it feels to have your heart broken, not from a lover, but from the awareness that my presence wasn’t wanted. I am going to try my hardest to keep my kids safe.

I will never forget, and regret the most, that I have ruined the meaning of sentimentals to you.

Humans of such perfection do not exist.

They live in a book, on another planet from a different realm fabricated within the deepest corners of my fantasies.

The deepest, I tell you!

My name is Reyvin Eugene and my favourite colors are burgundy and turquoise.

I enjoy Creamy French and Mexican Hot Chocolate.

My childhood is Pokemon.

I make things more complicated than they should be.

I am a transparent fag.

You took me by your eyes and sailed with me, weightlessness and with the desire to be desired with you on a bed of four-leaf clovers. Where ube and coconut ice cream was our getaway on a beach where we heard the ruffling of our jeans and worries were unseen.

Trace your fingertips on the back of my neck until “X” marks the spot and you have me wrestling for who gets tickled first. Sunlight and fresh linen is our atmosphere and our problems are only a needle in a haystack but what happens when we’ve reached too far?

What happens when the evidence is left under my eyes and I’m begging for air. How did it become that I am now searching for the hay in the needle stack.

Thanks Spongebob.