Honestly, today is the first time in my life in which ive wanted to be dead. I want to die right here right now. I see no happiness in the future. I have no motivation for anything. I do not see the point of living anymore. What are you supposed to do when you feel this way? Is there a way to make it stop?
I’m not always as confident as I seem … there are many nights and many days when all I want is to be held. I love being held. Always. Sometimes I don’t want to talk about what is bothering me … sometimes I just want a hug … someone who will let me cry. I like when boys cry in front of me — when people aren’t afraid to show what they’re really feeling. I don’t like when people run from their true feelings because it doesn’t do anyone any good. I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I am not naive. I know what it feels like to be completely broken and I am all too familiar with what it means to be hurt. I know what it’s like to see something funny and not laugh. I’ve been taken advantage of, used, and abused. My feelings have been blatantly disregarded. But I still believe that all people are good at heart … and my trust in people has not diminished. To be completely honest, I hope it never does. Ever.
wouldnt it be fucking scary if you had a clock that counted down until the moment you die like what if it could be altered too like one day it says 70 years left but then you do something and it says 10 minutes left and youre like what the fuck i fucked up i fucked up i fucked up
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.
baby, I got you doin’ dirt, doin’ dirt,
and now you wanna find me but i’m off the run,
your heart’s exploding like a burning sun,
you know I like it when it hurts, when it hurts…
hold me, we’re dancing in the dark of the night
i’m shining like a neon light
you light me up when you get inside
so won’t you touch me? cause everybody’s watching us now
we’re putting on a show for the crowd
i’ll turn it up baby, make it loud…