my mood for the night: stop romanticizing romance lmao
by Marie Howe
I want to write a love poem for the girls I kissed in seventh grade,
a song for what we did on the floor in the basement
of somebody’s parents’ house, a hymn for what we didn’t say but thought:
That feels good or I like that, when we learned how to open each others’ mouths
how to move our tongues to make somebody moan. We called it practicing, and
one was the boy, and we paired off – maybe six or eight girls – and turned out
the lights and kissed and kissed until we were stoned on kisses, and lifted our
nightgowns or let the straps drop, and Now you be the boy.
Concrete floor, sleeping bag or couch, playroom, game room, train room, laundry.
Linda’s basement was like a boat with booths and portholes
instead of windows. Gloria’s father had a bar downstairs with stools that spun,
plush carpeting. We kissed each other’s throats.
We sucked each others’ breasts, and we left marks, and never spoke of it upstairs
outdoors, in daylight, not once. We did it, and it was
practicing, and slept, sprawled so our legs still locked or crossed, a hand still lost
in someone’s hair … and we grew up and hardly mentioned who
the first kiss really was — a girl like us, still sticky with the moisturizer we’d
shared in the bathroom. I want to write a song
for that thick silence in the dark, and the first pure thrill of unreluctant desire
just before we made ourselves stop.
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
Frances Ha. It’s on Netflix and it’s about best friends and you would like it!
New coworker I’m supposed to be helping train has told me twice in two days that he isn’t asking questions (about working in our database which is old and incredibly temperamental and has very little margin for error) when he needs to because he’s a man and “men just work through problems by trial and error and figure it out for themselves” ummmmmmmmm
I wasn’t aware being a man was an excuse for not learning to do your fucking job?
how do i do that thing where i copy/pasta your tags? bc they were great.
Self-reblogging just for you, KB <3
Holland, 1945 - Neutral Milk Hotel
But now we must pick up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on