Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work, driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for, in order to get to a job that you need so you can pay for the clothes, car, and the house that you leave empty all day in order to afford to live in it.
What isn’t cultural appropration:
• Trying/eating/making a culture’s food
• Listening to that culture’s music
• Watching that culture’s movies
• Reading that culture’s books
• Appreciating that culture’s art
• Wearing that culture’s clothing IF in a setting where that culture is…
Lolol k thnkyou
Tonight was so good
It was open mike night at one n ten and I sang for my first time in front of a crowd and two people had tears in their eyes at the end and so many compliments and ahhh omg
And then I had dinner with this qt girl
And theeeennnn I got home and my binder came in the mail
So frick yeah time to smoke a bowl
I could go off the deep end,
I could kill all my best friends,
I could follow those stylish trends,
And God knows I could make amends.
But I’ve got an angry heart,
Filled with cancers and poppy tarts.
If this is how you folks make art,
It’s fucking depressing.
Tonight I listened to a voicemail you left me three months ago. In it, you told me to go fuck myself. I still remember that night. I still remember those words rolling off your tongue so gracefully. I remember wondering how someone so beautiful could be so cruel. Two months ago I called you at three A.M. I expected you to ignore it, or to send me to voicemail; those were two of the things you were best at. You answered and I felt my heart begin to race; you probably thought it was because I missed you, but truthfully it was because I didn’t expect you to answer, and because I really had to pee. I asked you how you were and you sat there quietly and confused. It was like you forgot that I existed and that I was once a part of your life. You told me “fine” and I smiled. That was the last conversation we had. I made sure to let go of you, and every negative word that was said, in a peaceful way. Fast forward two months, and I still wonder how you are. I still wonder how your dog is and if you’ve seen any good movies lately. If you ever heard me say this, you’d probably blush like you used to whenever I said something sweet. You’d probably think I think these things because I still love you, that I still want you. But that is not the case. You see, six months ago I was jumping through hoops to please you. To make sure that you were happy before myself. To make sure that I was the one causing your happiness. But it is not six months ago. It is now. And now I simply remember you as a person I gave my soul to. A person I told secrets to at 4am and fucked to feel a sense of closeness. A person I loved, yes. But it is not six months ago. It is now, and now I miss you. I miss the way you called randomly just to ask how my day was. I miss the way you seemed to care, even if you didn’t. I miss the friendship and the secrets and the stories. And maybe one day things will be different. Maybe you’ll call me on a Tuesday afternoon and ask how my day was. These are the things I think about before my eyes slowly close and I am finally rewarded with sleep. But for right now? Go fuck yourself.