i may seem like an angry person on the surface but deep inside im actually angrier
Two men kissing in a photobooth in 1953.
smoke weed, fine. graffiti, fucking do it man. party at strip clubs, more power to you.
but dont you fucking dare drive while drunk. you could kill someone else or yourself. do whatever you want unless you’re going to fuck up someone elses life.
I’m not sure if he notices.
In fact, I know he doesn’t.
He doesn’t realize that looking at him is like watching the sun set.
It’s like seeing his cheeks turn pink as he smiles
with lips so red
I want to bite into them just to spill their color onto a canvas
and paint my bedroom wall with it.
It’s like staring when he runs his hand through burnt orange hair
as he speaks words so immaculate
they could fall to the ground
and become sunflowers by summer.
It’s like the warmth I feel
stealing a glance into his blue eyes;
they are a blanket that encircles me
until all that’s left is black.
He doesn’t notice
the same way he’s never noticed me.
i feel my american-bred sense of entitlement the most when i get annoyed that the ‘united states’ is sorted in alphabetical order on a drop down menu and not just listed at the top