growing-up-gets-old

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

Sylvia Plath

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

only real springheads know about tipping their face up to the sun and enjoying a gentle breeze and birdsong

[growing-up-gets-old]

my kinks? idek dude just hug me please

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

"it's all in your head" correct! unfortunately I am also in there

[growing-up-gets-old]

these days when you close your eyes, what else do you want but to be loved in a warm and permanent way. the open soft hand, the lowered voice, the blanket around your shoulders. you want to be loved like hot chocolate, like spring flowers, like dawn. you want to go to sleep protected and wake up fully rested. you want the wounds in you to matter, you want someone who is patient around your scars.

how greedy. these days when you look around, how many little ways are you assaulted by the notion that it's wrong to need others. individualism! capitalism! bootstraps! every time you try to language it, you need to cover up your desire into a carefully-worded soundbite: of course no single person can fulfill every need and we must invest in communities and i must be responsible for my own mental health and

but the yawning in you doesn't understand logic or sound or reason. it only sees sundays, only sees what you do-not-have, only sees the look others share and that you so desire. sick with dread at it, sick at how it makes you want, how you yearn in no direction.

no matter how many people you take with you to bed, no matter how many hands touch the tattoo you share with your sibling, no matter how many times you kneel with your knees bleeding. always, the ache that never stops chewing, the desperate sick loneliness that never quite abates. it never stops humming, i need i need i need. you burn your inner child for warmth and scatter the ashes into your morning coffee.

so you shut up and you load your life like shotgun shells and you try to make yourself whole in the way that others are whole. you let your father's words spill out of your mouth. you make a quick joke rather than tear your heart open. you sing into the mic and go home with stars in your eyes. your life is beautiful and you're lucky! you have everything a person can need!

but it would be nice, is the thing. to have a love that feels like peace.

[growing-up-gets-old]

[growing-up-gets-old]

I hope someday someone cares enough to look at my art and ask abt it's meaning

[growing-up-gets-old]

— Lina A.

[growing-up-gets-old]