saymynameagainandagain

[saymynameagainandagain]

I miss living in trailer parks

Leopard print trailer park princesses

The smell of burning hair and cigarette smoke in the morning

Cruddy carpet mudded with nail polish and glitter

Pittbulls and Parolees playing in the living room

Caving in couches

That one cabinet™️ with all of our movies and games

The feeling of static on the TV screen

Tupac and Eminem playing while mom made dinner

Kids skirting by on bikes as the street lights come on

Nicotine staining and teenagers smelling like 'skunk'

That one cool boy with his daddy's old pickup truck

A mix of landlines, flip phones, and Iphones connecting us all

Maybe not all of these are relatable, but this was home for me

[saymynameagainandagain]

Living in trailers is something so intimate and it's never talked about enough

I feel like trailer parks with long-time residents are what movies say suburbs are

I've lived in a suburb

I went to borrow an egg for some pancakes and got the cops called on me for trespassing

In my old trailer park I went to borrow an egg for pancakes and we all ended up eating in my kitchen, she gave me bacon, and we all talked about the Taco Bell shutting down

Poverty breeds misery, yes

But it also breeds community

Children meeting in a trailer park and being friends all their lives

Goodness

[saymynameagainandagain]

I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired.

I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired

[saymynameagainandagain]

I'm dying. Not the kind of slow dying that, at one point or another, we all become aware of. The kind of dying that has your nurse holding in tears, and your doctor scratching her head in confusion. Because this doesn't happen to people like you. But it does. And it is.

And I loved you anyways. We both know so much, but we love anyways. And that's sort of poetic, isn't it?

The way you listen to my heart knowing it will stop before yours. The way you fantasize about growing old together knowing only one of us will ever become old. Hearing my body creak and pop and groan and cringing because you know it's my body's own way of keeping track of time. Counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, whittling me away until you're left with nothing.

But nobody ever asked me if I wanted to be poetic. I don't want our love to be poetry at the cost of me leaving you first. I'm dying and you look at me and you know it.

But by God, we love anyways, don't we?

[saymynameagainandagain]

The dark tarp of midnight envelopes us, not even the stars or moon can break the darkness around us. All I feel is your palms on mine, all I smell is you, all I hear is my heartbeat, all I taste is love, and all I see is nothing. You pull me along in the dark, an awkward combination between a dance and an embrace. You don't give up, and now I can sense where your body is even without my sight. An extension of me, my other half.

You pull me closer, spin me faster, and through laughter and sighs we collapse. And as I feel the heat of our bodies pressing together, I know that you are not really there.

[saymynameagainandagain]

Cringe culture is dead and so am I

[saymynameagainandagain]

Honestly I'd do SO well in college because I'm already broke, can only eat ramen, and stress about my classes