i have this urge to write but i can’t quite force it out of my pen
these nails make it so hard to type and scroll but i find it’s all i have been doing
endless context on this glowing box with worlds at my finger tips and i still find ways to fuck up
i can’t text slow enough or fast enough or find the right photo or reel or post to send
i struggle with my words when they are for someone else
but i guess there is always the audience
who do i write for?
dress for?
create for?
why do i love and why is the point
i feel like all media is is sex
what’s your body count
are you in love yet
how enticing is this
want me to
need me
please please please
but god i hate to beg
its easy to picture perfect see the perfect picture painted just for my envy viewing pleasure and pain
and what the fuck am i to do
i cant fight this wretched soul i keep
tethered inside me
id kill for cool girl
to ice out forever
but there is always falling off of that hill
and i always land splat flat in the mud and i have to roll in the filth to remember who i am
whoever that is