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Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime.

It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell.

How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you?

How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you.

Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down.

Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.

Can I write you every day? I don't know. A poem might be just two lines or it might be a lifetime. It might be a confession or it might be a concession. It might be an ask or it might be a tell. How would I know what these words want from me to ask of you? How can I turn this thing into action? Suppress vulgar me and find salvation in transcendent you. Is it the other way 'round? Maybe I'm the base and you're the acid I'm meant tone down. Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door.
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[–] • 1 pt

Looking at my writing from 15 years ago

Good Lord, please let us see that time capsule

[–] • 1 pt

Might do. It's the same emotional slop that I write now. Just with different influences. I listen to a wider variety of music now and I'm not near as desperate for affection as I used to be. That edge of desperation reads as immaturity to me now, but I'll dig around for some less cringe too post.

[–] • 1 pt

That edge of desperation reads as immaturity to me now, but I'll dig around for some less cringe too post.

I get that.

But there is something about the purity, and intensity, of the emotions you feel as a teenager, as retarded as they may be. The cringe makes it better, at least in retrospect.

[–] • 1 pt

I certainly wouldn't be writing the way I do now if I hadn't written the way I did then.