me whispering to my cat and pointing at a bug in my room: eat it
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I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.
Roger Zelazny (via quotemadness)
the older you get the more you appreciate just chilling at home doing nothing
This is not a love poem. This is a tooth and nail poem. This is my hand on his throat. This is his voice at 2 a.m with his hands on my hips. This is what we say Gods name for. This is not a love poem. This is a forest fire. It’s not knowing where my hands belong unless they’re on him. Where I️ can’t breathe if he’s not in the room. Where I️ can’t breathe if he is. This is not a love poem. This is the war cry of the body. Take me. Unmake me. Remake me. Whatever you do, make me yours.
