28/10/26 - QUESTIONS

today i attempt to become a brand new person. i’m going back to black hair and i won’t be an unnatural redhead any longer. hopefully i get a little red raccoon tail striped through my hair as a battle scar of my misadventures from having red hair.

i’m so afraid i’m gonna fuck up the hair though, or regret dyeing it black and feel upset because i cannot bleach it back anymore until it grows out. but it’s ultimately a test on patience, on acceptance, on whatever the fuck else. B and MA say that i will look siren-like and fierce. succubus.

i want to change, i want to stop thinking about you, which honestly has been working because the grief and pain has subsided into a dull ache. you text me more often now, but it is so detached. i’ve given up, i think. i don’t wanna do this anymore. i will entertain because i need the attention to tide me until i leave.

i see you in a week and a half, we are watching one of my favourite movies together. i can’t help but imagine you’ll be a bit shocked at the change in my hair. i know it’ll go something like this:

“Your hair is black now.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you dye it back?”

“I needed a change.”

“It’s nice. It’s pretty.”

and then we sit and watch a movie that is 90% automobile-fuelled soft core porn. just because i like it. and then after, on the way to the party, we will sit in the taxi and i have to pretend that the last time we sat in a taxi together wasn’t a year ago and you didn’t put your hand in mine and i didn’t kiss your cheek and your head wasn’t on my shoulders and we weren’t so so so drunk. and it was not the best day of my life.

last night, i was in the shower and thinking of you. i thought about sitting your avoidant, repressed ass down as asking you: why the fuck are you freaking out? why do you deprive yourself of sex, say that you don’t want to fuck people you don’t date and then say you don’t want to date, and then fuck me? do you see that you are keeping yourself prisoner? does everything have to fit inside concretised societal constructs?

you once told me, somebody has to follow social constructs and institutions so they remain institutions. are you stupid? are you martyring yourself for this? is the validation you get from this better than my hands traversing the terrain of your body?

i could make you feel good, which would make me feel good. i could be your friend you like to kiss. i don’t wanna post you on instagram or get flowers or monthaversery gifts— i want to talk to you, lie on your chest, go for gigs, share cigarettes, laugh and fuck and whatever. everything is ephemeral my dear, why do you want to feel regret and shame? do you think it absolves you? you’re only young once. i like the casualness, the equality of whatever we could have. if i was your girlfriend i’d kill myself. i’m not your anything. boundaries are just salad dressing. friends call each other, why don’t we?

sometimes, and it is hard to admit, i think i need the release as well. i need the emotional intensity of the sex, which i don’t get from others. it’ll satiate me. i need it to overwhelm me. hands above my head, you trailing down. tell me what to do and i’ll do it because sometimes i don’t want to think and when i fuck other people, i have to think because i don’t trust them. i trust you, and i know where the blurry, sand-line is drawn. whatever feelings arise can be dealt with, i guess. maybe i’m pathetic for verbalising what we both want. and i can’t talk to you about this either bc you’re so closed off tight so i have to tell the internet. okay.

i haven’t gotten off since june and i think it’s affecting me. sorry. can we have phone sex pretty please? i’ll be good, i just want to hear your voice. you can pray afterwards or whatever i don’t really care.

i have a few days until i have to submit poems for a prize i’ve been trying for. i still don’t have a second poem. i wish you’d get up off your ass and do something instead of sending cryptic faux-disninterested texts so i can write about it.