Friday, I’m not in love

I have nothing original to say today. I’m feeling stagnate and ordinary in my own mind. My body smells strongly of coffee and my heart seems to be beating out of my chest. Perhaps that fifth cup of coffee was too much for my insides to handle, but I needed it to finish that essay. Fall break didn’t come soon enough. I feel like my brain is all over the place. I wanted to write something of my own today. I wanted to give you something that you’d be proud of and enjoy and identify with, instead I slept and sat in a Starbucks for five hours trying to write an essay. An essay that is awful and boring and that I don’t care about. Instead, I leave you with a poet that inspires me. I hope it inspires you.

“I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name.

I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me
You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you.
You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own.
But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless.
and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone
and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.”

Clementine von Radics

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