All these boys want to fuck me, then forget me. They like having me there when they feel like it. Like the thought of me moaning their names and that’s it. They invite me over, say, make yourself at home. So I climb onto their fire escapes and shake.

All these boys like to text me late at night, when they’re bored. “Just thinking about you,” they say. And that’s it. Or they type, “I read your poetry. You’re going somewhere.” “What did you read?” I reply nervously. When they get back to me it’s one, two, three weeks later. It’s, “I don’t remember. Some stuff.” And that’s it.

I am wondering what they’d write if they wrote about me. “She was nice. Sort of pretty too. But mechanical. Preplanned. I don’t think I knew her much at all.”

Or worse, “We talked a few times. I liked the way her mouth looked. Wanted to feel it on me, you know? Thought about us fucking a few times…Yeah, I’d say I knew her pretty well.”

All these boys wipe their drool on me like I am just the flesh. Just a place to die in, for the night. Just a sweet thing to reflect on when they’re feeling heavy. Just an idea that they never got and still don’t want. And that’s it. That’s it.

― And That’s It | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
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I want to be your favorite place to go when you’ve had a bad day or a good day.
― (via niccoolleeyy)
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mu-sical:

you told me you loved me

why did you leave me alone?

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♏