At the bookstore
wine tastes so bad. I’m convinced the whole world is in on an inside joke together trying to persuade me that wine tastes good to them. there’s no way any one can like the taste of it. it’s like bug spray. the whole frickin world pretends to like bug spray. I don’t understand why. stop the madness
People like to say love is unconditional, but it’s not, and even if it was unconditional, it’s still never free. There’s always an expectation attached. They always want something in return. Like they want you to be happy or whatever and that makes you automatically responsible for their happiness because they won’t be happy unless you are … I just don’t want that responsibility.
'cause the stars get jealous
when they look down at you
because you always shine brighter than them
and don’t even see it.
You hide your face behind your hair
and at parties you shut the light
to “set the mood”.
You hide your hands
in the sleeves of your sweater
and no matter how cheesy this sounds
you don’t deserve this.
You deserve to show your skin,
to let the sunshine touch it
and to let your hair fly in the wind.
‘cause you don’t need wings to fly
and you don’t need make-up to smile. ‘cause at the end of the day
the stars still get jealous
of how bright you shine.