Remus Arthur Potter, you were named after two men who looked out for my safety and cared about my well-being out of altruism and decency rather than because I was a tool for them to use or because I was someone’s son.
Hey kids, as we approach Halloween I just wanted you guys to be careful and say DON’T FUCK WITH SPIRITS. Don’t mess with Ouija Boards, don’t talk to no dead people, don’t fuck with demons, don’t summon shit, don’t dick around in abandoned buildings. If you are considering a thing, just think, “would a white person in a horror movie do this thing?” If the answer is yes, then don’t do the thing.
America, you do not exist in a vacuum.
Gun control works.
Higher minimum wage works.
Free health care works.
Free higher education works.
too bad the government doesn’t
GUESS WHAT THE FUCK I DID TODAY?!?!?!?!?!??!!?!?!
I whispered your name inside a paper bag,
sealed it with my mouth, and held it
with two hands, fragile.
The instructions were to breathe you in
full and wanting, but I took a U-turn
somewhere between seeing you with her
and seeing you without her.
Both times, I pulled the breaks, closed my eyes,
hoping for an immediate traffic, for cars
to line up on my spine to keep me from running
towards a possible heartbreak.
I drive towards you instead.
Kharla M. Brillo, Before and After (via pouvoires)
I still shop at midnight for cold milk,
opened fridges just to close them again,
opened doors to just let myself out.
Nowadays, I don’t let people in—they only leave
stains on my carpet, they park their cars wrong,
they keep asking questions
and I have but mistakes for answers.
Somewhere in these gaps I take a shower,
water the pea plants on my window, still finding time
to whisper a part of you inside that paper bag.
First, your name. Then, mine.
I tell myself that that was the one place
we had each other.
When I opened it again, I realized
I never had you, you were only ever a whisper.