How does one feel when success is so limited and support is seen as “I’m going to leave you alone for a moment. I’ve been taking up time. I’m gonna let ya go on and cook.”
Something like that, that offers this beautiful patience. Re-acclimating. Getting to know each other all over again. When the butterflies dissipate, I’m picking my nose in front of you as I grab tissues because yours is dripping and there’s low dose aspirin tablets and vitamin c in the humidifier because I want us to be healthy while your mushroom microbiome keeps leaving cankerous scents that actually smell so good and are too strong for me. You smell that stinks of shit has turned to blossomous petrichor and you are smelling like me and I keep wiping my skincare on your face and dossing the curls with coconut-oil-tablet-mist and water into your skin and suddenly your open wound has healed after 3 weeks of knowing me.
5 times around and ya still can’t quit the girl, huh, you lying wasp??
Good thing the girl is a moth but thinks like a cat, flies like a hawlet [Mother Matriarch], and trains wolves until they’re barking, harling, and rolling all over in the only other person that speaks Black Wave-Rainbow Frequency as a natural voice and lipid, salt, fat, sugar, spiced themselves into their natural speaking voice because they saved it for 8 years and chose Purple Snake Language while you were Holier-than-Thou White/Blanco to survive.
Good for you dude, it looks good on you. {He acts like I can’t sniff the A/V Club mtn dew and cheeto dust permanency on him.}
p.s. You don’t know what to write about?: Talk to Your Mother!! [She’ll tell you everything and it’ll all hurt. Of course, she’s the inspiration to every other Mother. If that’s just no all there is to me, imagine who tf raised me every time! The Strongest One for my -Reformed-Empathetic-Individualistic- Arsenal of fruitful burdens of venomous quakes that bear fruit for Argument. For a Jokei-Joke, Dad doesn’t say much these days: but I hear from my Mother what he thinks Anyway!
For that, I am peeved. For what, I am grateful. For detaste-to-ditest: My own loathensomeness when it comes to the bearing of clearing to schnoz because I faked my voice and dialects and code-switch because I split myself when Honey said “I want you to wrap that siren ass voice in a pony-bow and beat the notches off my own. You will be Evil and Purple. I will Holy and White. No one must know I’m Dominican. No one must know you aren’t White. You will simply Piano Keys to Me and I will play the White Devil. Therefore, no one will believe you and everyone will trust me. -They don’t know who they’re fucking with, do they. ‘Reality is merely only a Misconception, under the belt of the wave of my Frequency.” -Are we going Revenge of the Nerds for tight-control of a Plutarchrocy so you can vent for the better part of decade and I can seal for 20 of them before we adjust back to our natural voice. ‘Precisely, I love you, honey. -It commences, I see.
p.s.s. It took me 4 days. He’s only saves Black Wave-Rainbow Frequency for phone calls. Otherwise he’s just some white deaf old guy, and that’s all I got. Everyone thinks he’s the coolest when he secret shops my companies and I sit on the phone and realize I’m the only One, that truly knows he’s a maniac and not some sweet-as-a-gherkin old white man that should be in a senior living center. His dad is Toledo and his Mom is from Berlin ffs. He told me this. I hate this. He’s not a cowboy-nerd, he just – who he is. Whatever tf that is, this crazed individual. I’m divided in my sentiments, but I’ll say this: I’m tired of his friends working their fucking jobs at my companies when I see them pick me up playing Romeo Santos for Sam Borromeo at 1:28min as we take my Mother to Mother’s Day at his favorite restaurant and her FAVORITE Fav-or-ite Restaurant. And we woke up drunk, grumpy, and alone. I choose Moscow Mule and not finishing big-ass too-sweet Frozen Margarita. He gets two rumsuckers punch bowls and blue & yellow. My Mom is hanging with the simple Margarita sugar-rim then gets the Limit-2-per-Order drink and sips on the Frozen margarita I ditched when I realized I ate drinks for dinner and picked at my food.
-Who tf could still be lying to Who; at this point?
It’s like I’m the only honest one in this situation that looks like a Triangle, but is at least a Square to Octagonal with enough players to support the build to at least assemble 5 Joint Quadralized Totrehedeons.
Of a Google-Gal, this, I can attest.
May it be an obituary one day to my dead marriages that never happened legally.
-He’ll carve the gravestone, and I’ll yell
‘I don’t think that’s, granite.
petrichor - archive 