Hookup? Hookup?! I suppose that if I could just manage to be thinner, dumber, sweeter, a dimwitted simpleton of average intelligence, a myopic lush instead of a luscious mystic, traded out my mauve lipstick, grow my hair out dye it blonde, put contacts in and an ill-fitting sundress on with ridiculous shoes... I wouldn't intimate you or be regulated to dick-throb instead of heart-throb. I would maybe be the woman they see materialized as wife the kind to spend their life and not just the night. Thank you for the drunken texts and the thoughtless ghosting. Because I never think of you when I'm drinking or when I'm smoking. There's nothing in the clouds for me to see. If only I was weaker, meeker, spoke to you like Beaker. Was your cook, was your maid, raised your brats be your slave. Maybe there's something more to do than get laid... But no love was gave. So give me money. Treat me like a whore than giv
Where conspiracy theories meet feminist theories. (And sometimes there's poems).