Monday, 28 October 2013

What they said

They say I want doesn’t get because they are idiots who never knew how to say please to the universe. I am learning so many contrary lessons. I am living in Berlin listening to the Cabaret soundtrack, requesting all the things I would like brought to my boudoir. I am full of want and I deserve everything I get.

Ah these months, these broken champagne flutes—did I mention it is almost my birthday? Did I mention I can’t swipe this stupid fucking grin off my face?

Think for a moment of the things you are most terrified to put into words, because just maybe if you did you would discover that yours is not an eternal corridor petalled with roses. Just maybe the bastards in charge would say no.

Now open your fucking lungs, mein Herr, meine Dame. Stop hiding beneath your patchwork quilts, all worked over with purple thread. Stop believing in cracks.

There is nothing wrong with being a freak and a fruit with small scrabbled hands. There is nothing wrong with you. You need to stand on those perched heels and open your mouth. You need to let them stuff the entire universe inside.

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