antimony

i want

to be smaller.
to be cuter
to not have to work anymore
lots of money, ohhh, lots of money.
to own sephora.




i want i want.

lace. and glitter. and bows. i want to cover myself in tattoos, just because. i want to be interesting. i want...

a skirt for every hour of the day, all flowy and begging to be danced in.

matching pink and purple high top chuck taylors, underneath ivory and silver wedding dresses, just like in my head.

a cottage, with a windowseat and a folly and a kitten with no legs named sir stumpsalot. and honeysuckle, and a swingset. i want the weeds to grow tall, tall, and i'll pick dandelions for her in big bunches and we'll hold them between our teeth, lips painted red leaving stains on our cigarettes, on each other. i want the stairs to creak and the banister to be oh so smooth, with a mattress at the bottom so we can slide whenever we want to. i want big windows and pancakes in the mornings that i will make but never eat, i'll be too busy watching her. i want a canopy bed with huge ruffley curtains to shut the world out, and we'll fuck there twice as much as everywhere else in the house because we love it so much.

i want speakers in every corner to play mirah's 'the garden' on repeat forever, louder than it's every been played, in the house, in my ears, and we'll dance until we fall down. i want to paint poetry (music, you know) on the walls and we'll repaint every week, because we can.

i want to sew us together with my little sewing machine.