#just writing tingz 😼‼️

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You kissed me in the dark

You kissed me slow and carefully, and then you kissed me passionately.

You kissed me as I kissed you back. Our breaths synching and becoming one.

In this moment, I feel something I’ve never felt. I know we’re both drunk, but I can’t help but feel some kind of way about this.

I don’t need alcohol when I have you around.

I just want more shots of your kiss, not Tito’s.

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I ran my fingers along his braided hair as we made out on my bed.

I chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” He said.

“Nothing, it just feels cool. Y’know, I like how it looks but I liked you more with the puffier hair.”

And just like that we dropped it. We went back to making out.

Later that day, the next time I saw him, he had his hair back in his lil Afro.

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Guys i think I’ve manifested this😍

I need a friends to lovers slow burn moment

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Why am I smiling at a “hey.”

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There does come a time when you wonder if you’re capable of being loved. You lay on your bed in agony as the little digital numbers on the top part of your screen count up to 59 and reset. You’ll toss and turn and rerun every scenario you can think of. You’ll stare in silence, silence that if you listen hard enough, you’ll hear your eyelids open and close. Then you ask yourself that question- “Am I capable of being loved?”

There’s a reason you ask that question. It’s not because of movies or tv shows or some other superficial thing. It’s because of the people around you. You’ll see your friends say what you want, do what you want, feel what you want- have what you want. Why does it come so easily for them? Are you broken? Is there some small shitty gear inside of you that’s too rusty? Too deformed?

Time and time again, you’ll see them fall in and out of love. They’ll fall in love with the idea of love and grow to hate it. All the while you sit and watch like some crow perched on a wire. Waiting for a chance where you can swoop down and grab love with all your might. Just when you think the moment is right, a scarecrow appears. Or maybe it was always there. Maybe it wants to keep whatever it’s guarding all to itself. Maybe it’s because you’re undeserving. Maybe it’s something not meant for you.

There come moments when you may not receive love, but rather you give it. You give and give and give, you view these mundane actions as Hollywood movies come to life. You think you’re writing one of the worlds greatest love stories and your pen is flowing so swiftly across the paper and the ink is marking every last detail and- and something stops it. Some debris gets under the paper which offsets the course of the pen making it look dirty. What happened? Oh. Right. You. You happened. You somehow messed this up and now the ink has been spilled and it’s ruining your writing and the ink is consuming everything and making it all a mess with no real meaning and you’re watching in horror as it all goes to shit. You can’t even give love without messing it up in your own spectacular way.

Maybe you’re just meant to teach others just how much love they can experience. Maybe you nudge them in the right direction, maybe you teach them some life long lesson. You show someone how a person can truly love them, which gives them hope. Hope you haven’t experienced. You’ve never been the kid that had people say “I have a crush on you.” No one’s ever gone out of their way for you. No one’s ever done anything that even comes close to your lesser gestures of love. You’re just… there.

Eventually all that needs an outlet. And so you seek validation from any and every corner you can think of. You’ll have some good experiences and some horrible experiences. You’ll hear constant remakes about how exotic your skin is and how good you feel. You’ll hear just about anything and everything about your outer layer- “Nice hair. I like your legs. You have a nice complexion. You feel good. You’re hot. You’re sexy.” And yea, you’ll like it for about 2-3 times total. But then you long for more- yearn for more. You want someone to say “you have nice eyes. I like that when you smile your ears fly back. I think it’s cool that you’re into this. I like how you make me laugh. I like how your overly sentimental about your cameras and the pictures and videos you take and the way you capture people in the moment.”

But that day doesn’t come. After countless attempts of putting yourself out there and going through so many talking stages and awkward situations, all you have left to show for all that is a broken, unlovable, deformed, overly optimistic heart.

After all I’ve endured, and I can’t even say the proper nouns or pronouns. “You” and “I” become one of the same when avoidance is your solution. I can’t admit when it’s me and I project onto others. The “you” is me and the “I” is you. This constant merry go round of shit covered horses that’s in flames just keeps on going and going. I hope that one day someone asks me to ride a different ride that makes me get off of this malicious contraption.

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You never walk by just people, you walk by moments and experiences and characters mid development and fleshed out souls and complicated minds and convoluted love lives and drastic friend groups that shouldn’t but do work.

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Today my friend brought me snacks while I was at another friends house.

I texted him, asked for m&ms and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and sent him some money.

He made his friend who he was hanging out with drive him to Kroger and to my other friends house.

But that’s not what I wanna talk about. I wanna talk about when he got to the house and he called me outside. I went outside with my friend and he stood on the steps as he handed me the Kroger bag. He said “here ya go.” And I said “Aw thanks.” And then we just high fived. But for some reason, some weird reason, the high five didn’t seem like enough. We just kinda stared at each other. I like to think we had some unspoken conversation with our eyes and movements, but I’ve been down this road before.

I wonder though, if I went outside alone, and your friends weren’t in the driveway, would something else have happened?

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JUST 🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥🫥

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I’m great at being open. I can tell people that I’ve slept with this many people and feel fine. I can say I’m bi or still figuring it out really easily. I can say I’m tired because of school.

But I can’t say that I sleep with that many people to cope. To maybe erase what my first time was actually like. To know what it’s like to be wanted even if it’s for a brief moment. I can’t say I’m bi without my internalized homophobia making a brief appearance. I can’t say I’m tired because of my existence as a really, really conflicted person. My good and bad fighting it out, my sexuality playing “Guess who”, my friends out casting me because of my demanding schedule.

I’m great at being open, I just suck at being vulnerable.

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I wanna sap for someone or something, but someone has yet to imbed a spile into in my heart.

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Ink. Letters. Words. Sentences. Paragraphs. Pages. Chapters.

Ink- my pen writes across whatever it finds, but I don’t have the ink. I’ll write invisible scratches that only exist in my mind. Then you- the ink- come along and my pen can start making visible lines. Then the lines become more than lines. They become

Letters- the letters “u” and “I” are repeated over and over. Eventually other letters slip into my rhythm and create

Words- I can now describe what I feel. I don’t need to use scratches to express myself. Sad. Annoying. Attached. Sentimental. Happy. Joy. Laughter. Tears. Swiftly and decisively the words come pouring out. But why not elongate these words into

Sentences- now I can describe more in depth what you’re making me feel. You make me feel happy. You make me wanna be a better person. You make me wanna do more. The sentences slip my control and they start forming

Paragraphs- I express what I feel in lengthy paragraphs and use every cheesy metaphor and analogy I can think of. I use visuals. I tell the events I deem important in the most jaw dropping detail. Giving any outsider who were to read this paragraph the feeling of being not a bystander, but rather you. And soon you start to take up

Pages- you’re everywhere. You’re all I can write about. It’s all I can think about. Your being is riddled with complexity, each new detail I learn about you is immediate imprinted on the pages. So many pages. And those pages eventually grow and grow. You’re the main character, and every main character always has

Chapters- finally you’re no longer just lines nor letters nor words nor sentences nor paragraphs, you’re the whole god damn chapter. Every page, every phrase so meticulously written to capture the essence that is you. You’re so vivid in these pages, so alive and unique. The fragility of your being can so easily be destroyed with one fell strike through. It’ll leave the page torn and ugly, but to the readers they’ll see see how much hurt it must’ve taken me to deduce your character in such a manner. Especially after reading every last chapter with the very ink that you provided.

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Full circle moments are crazy. I wanna write everything I’ve experience during my time in the Dekalb County educational system. Every story is just so impactful to my whole character. I could go on and on.

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I wanna text [redacted] 😗 I wish he still called me gobi and say “we’re gonna get abducted togethers.” Or play that neon air hockey game and he’d make a pac man like sound when he’d walk pass me in the hallways and he’d always come sit next to me in math class. I wanna know if he’s going to college or something. I wanted to text him the other day when he changed his pfp to a picture he showed me freshman year and I made fun of him for it. His fits freshman year were atrocious but I liked em. He was so stupid 😭 like so dumb. Always asking for my help 🥰 I miss catching him stare at me in biology or in math or in civics. We had a note taking system freshman year civics. He wrote and drew on my papers a lot. I miss the flirting contests we had. I still have that drawing we made togethers. I wish he’d say “pull out” one more time, just cause. I wish he’d steal my books and ask me what I was reading. I wish he’d text me randomly at night asking about hw. I miss our 3 second hallway interactions where we just smiled and blush at each other. I miss it. I miss you.

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This season was wild

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In my 4 years in high school, the thing that affected me the most was and still band. Summers were just for marching band. We’d have band camp- a five day week where we spend 9am-9pm learning drill and music. Tuesday and Thursday’s (or T Days) we had practice 3:30-6:30. On Friday’s during football season we were surrounded by the same people from 3:15-10/11pm. During that time anything could happen. A fictional funeral for a tv character. A hike in the woods. A game of marching band football. Or maybe a game of marching band tag. Maybe you’ll sit and gossip. Grab some food. Practice. Eat. Sleep. Point is, your like during football season is practically just being a band kid. And I miss it. I really do.

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It’s 7th grade, we have the same team, same classes. Idk who you are, but you’ve taken up an interest of trying to talk to me. I try but I can’t. Weird kid.

It’s 8th grade, and now you’re not that weird kid, but now you’re a weird kid who I’ve grown fond of. All throughout the year you tease me, make me chase after you physically, make me laugh, I make you laugh- we get each other. The year sadly doesn’t care how long we wanna be with each other, and it finishes up quickly. Too quick.

It’s freshmen year, I stare at the door. I wait to see if you walk into class or not, I wait to see if today’s a day of laughter or a day of what if’s. Just as I mulled over the possibility of that, you appear- energetic, happy, bubbly. I decide today’s gonna be a good day. We laugh, stare, share gentle touches with paranoia creeping on our backs. What is this feeling?

It’s sophomore year now, we don’t have a class together but we always walk past each other in the hall ways. We share a few smiles throughout the days dwindling hours. Even running into a locked one day because I only saw your eyes and nothing more. One day I’m annoyed, and instead of smiling at you, I set my frown and stare and shake my head at you. We never did get that smile back.

It’s junior year now, and covids stripped us of our time. We now only see empty Snapchat names and the occasional random text. I decide enough is enough- I confess. “I think I have a thing for you, but I’m not sure if you do for me.” To my dismay he’s in a relationship- has been for a couple of weeks. Even through text I can feel him. It’s awkward. I made it awkward.

It’s a week later, I bleach my hair- cliche? Definitely. Needed? Just a bit.

Months pass. Your birthday is today. I wish you a happy birthday, you say thanks and instead of me replying with a short sentence like every year before, I leave you on open.

It’s now the New Year, and your being feels as distant as the land and the sky.

It’s now the end of the school year- you’ve been more active on social media, you’ve changed. Idk if I like the change. But then again idk if I like you.

It’s the beginning of senior year now, and somehow you pop into my mind every now and then. Idk if you’re still at school or not. You’re not someone I consider a friend. You’re a memory. A good one at that. Our shared smiles, laughter, our touches, our jokes, our classes, our movies, our time, our messages, our everything’s- but now it’s clear that I was a pass time. Nothing more than a distraction to get through the day. And I as go through everyday now, I realize how little I’ve let you go.

I hate that about myself, never seem to let go.