I love your bad temper. I love your jealous streak. I love your strength and pigheadedness. And I know you love me. And sometimes love makes people go a little crazy. The insanity won’t last forever…I hope.Kirsten Miller, The Eternal Ones (via simply-quotes)
What To Do When Your Boyfriend’s Asshole Best Friend Says, “Hey, Never Trust Anything That Bleeds For Seven Days And Doesn’t Die,
OR The Only Poem I’ll Ever Write About Periods.
Don’t excuse him because he’s had
at least three lite beers
and is sweating through his black button down
that his mom or exgirlfriend
probably bought him.
Don’t excuse him because he’s been turned down
by the last six girls he went on dates with
after meeting them on tindr
with a picture that’s seven years old
Don’t excuse him because
he’s usually such a nice guy
because you don’t want to be a bitch
because you don’t want to cause a scene
because when you were seventeen
your sister told you
no one likes an angry feminist
Let me explain something to you.
Every goddamn motherfucking month since I was eleven,
a part of me
tore itself to shreds
ripped itself apart inside me
and then remade itself.
So yes, I bleed for seven days
and I don’t die
You know what else can do that?
Things of legend.
Fuck, I can even
So I say, never trust anything that can’t
bleed for seven days and not die.
You know what that makes it?
So let’s see, hon,
What you’re made of.
If you can bleed for seven days
and not die.
Rip out his jugular with your teeth.
And when he bleeds for seven seconds
spit on his corpse and say,
I thought not.
My feelings never get hurt when I am by myself. I honestly wish I didn’t care about anyone. Ever. Life is so much easier without friends.
Things I am proud of:
- Appearing in a magazine with my 1st boyfriend, Slash. Hello!
- Being an internationally published artist.
- Publishing a photography book that Taschen would probably publish.
- Being a well known, respected writer in a culty little clique. (I’m gonna be that weird bitch that dies and leaves a vault of amazing shit, okay.)
- Quitting my high profile celeb assistant job last year after saving all my $ for 6 months and investing it in a company I founded with some serious long term potential.
- Staying hungry / chasing dreams / making my dreams a reality.
- Being a hot boss bitch earning my own money.
- Recovering and learning to only need my ego when it counts. (like this. this counts.)
- Being a natural blonde 24/7.
- Sustaining a healthy positive relationship with my sister.
- Managing to both annoy and delight J. Chavez every day.
- Trusting strangers with my feelings.
- Breaking all the rules, all the time, and never getting caught/no jail time.
- Being alive.
Last night I cried myself to sleep for the first time in a while. My papa is dying very slowly. It is incredibly painful to watch. I also wish I could hug my Nana just one more time. I am close to 30 and that need for a warm, soft, maternal body will never go away. Nobody hugs me good enough. I used to dump all my sad feelings into this place but I am scared if I keep doing it I will never recover. Tumblr is like a trigger for sad girls. I read other peoples sadness and it makes me feel very heavy. I see other peoples success and it makes me feel inadequate. I am very proud of myself for being a business owner, artist, writer, lover, but it doesn’t feel like enough… Is it ever going to though? I was born to two addicts, is this my untreated addiction? Is this the root of addiction? Wanting more more more. I am happy, sometimes. But most of the time, it’s not enough…
You were crazy in the worst way, alcoholic bruises covering up the guilt you felt for the miscarriages and the abortions and all the weed you smoked, the way you’d fuck around and fucked the town, getting the fear, too scared to test for AIDS, fucking yr way to the top of the chain of the beautiful men with no brains you made you cry on the sidewalks of Sunset and in the backseat of the car, too drunk to hold a cigarette, too fat to fit into my clothes and I cried and cried and I tried to hold onto you as tight as I could but you are as light as feather on the inside and you flipped and flopped like a dying fish, you had a lot of dreams you wanted to come true and you’d scream a the shooting stars for a wish but at the end of the bottle you were always blue, always blue in the face and swollen and bloated and broken, baby angel broken doll, you floated out of my hands and there was nothing and no one to catch you fall.
There was only pt. 1 and pt. 2.