Hello! I am Caitlyn, 21, I like long nights on the blog and romantic back-alley rendezvous with novels.My Fandom Blog Books I am reading Books for class Ask me anything
-Koula Svokos Hartnett, Zelda Fitzgerald and the Failure of the American Dream for Women
(For the people whom I see constantly romanticizing the Fitzgeralds’ marriage—it was deeply fractured!)
I hope when you peel citrus fruit
that it all comes out in one piece.
I hope that you have nothing to do today
so that you can stay in the shower
because sometimes that’s the warmest
and safest place to be.
I hope you let the sidewalk kiss
the bottoms of your bare
blistered feet after you’ve walked
far too long in uncomfortable shoes.
I hope the lights are all green on your drive home.
I hope the cashier looks at you like you’re beautiful.
I hope you have an appetite tonight and I hope
you have good things to eat.
I hope the walk to your car smells like trees.
I hope you haven’t forgotten how lovely you are.
We all have different definitions of a good day.
I hope you get some stuff done
even when you couldn’t leave your bed last week.
I hope you went outside even though
you didn’t want to see anyone.
I hope you at least have a day
where nothing bad happens.
I hope you have a day when you give yourself a break
because you need to remember that you’re human.
I hope you do something that makes you feel good about yourself.
I hope you do something for you and only you.
I hope you remember it’s not selfish.
I hope you remember it’s okay to eat.
Most of all, I hope you don’t die
because you are so many people’s reasons
to stay alive.
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths. R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via werewolfarchery)