Once a month, blood comes out of my vagina. This is totally normal and absolutely not gross. That blood is part of a process that is responsible for those little things called babies that eventually grow up to be you and me. That blood is as vital to our species’ survival as the little sperms that wiggle their way out peen holes every day. And yet, that blood, the very lining of my life-giving uterus, is somehow considered dirtier than the gooey pre-smegma that proceeds forth from the tips of dicks every day.
that it can all disappear very
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha …
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you’ll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she’ll ask:
my god, what’s the matter?
and you’ll answer: I don’t know,
I don’t know …
time to eat pizza again
got rid of a huge source of negativity in my life and nobody else can seem to stop trying to bring it back into my life.
and also, i know we’re all guilty of rambling on about things, but when will people learn to pay attention to if anyone actually gives a fuck about what they’re saying? if someone hasn’t said a word until they’re like “oh look at the time, gotta go” maybe you should try to umm have a two way conversation next time? instead of telling the same fucking stories over and over again?