Saturday, October 30, 2010

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian

In Case You Were Considering Being a Lesbian: "When you gonna take that sweatshirt off?
When it stops smelling like her skin.
We're crazy like that.

Don't ask us about u-hauls or gold stars.
It'll make us want to teach you things.
Hit up the urban dictionary instead.

Next to the skeletons and box of year-old
dildos and love sticky notes from the ex
girlfriend that we won't throw away

until you say you want to date us, you might find
Star Wars on VHS, a mega phone and
flowers that are way past dead.

You better like cats. Actually, you better love cats.
Never say 'actually.' Or 'sort of.' We hate those words
because half of us never make up our damn minds.

The other half of us, we'll write you poem after poem
after poem and cry like you just ran over all seven
of our cats at the same time when you don't

swoon at our feet. Some of us are really good at
Rock Band because we think that showing you how
well we can move our fingers, before drinking enough

tequila to ask you out, will make you believe
that we're good in bed. There's a chance that
you'll know that moving fingers over plastic buttons

is nothing like playing guitar. In that case,
we'll grab another beer and sit close enough to you
so that no one can see us stroking your side with our

finger. The innocent side or thigh stroking.
What we're really saying is, Listen up hot stuff,
I know exactly what to do with your vagina.

When you break up with us, we will most likely
send you exotic flowers, write you letters and
make sure that the paper smells like us,

text message you song lyrics, and show up
on your doorstep with an offer you can't refuse.
We'll draw you back in, then you will break up with us

again. Thank God most of make art, play softball,
or both. Otherwise, we might end up killing someone.

The only thing a lesbian can do better than this poem
is cause you to ask, why the fuck am I a lesbian?

"

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Thinking of You

Thinking of You: "Thinking of you teaches me how to use
a power drill. It walks me down the street to
buy a snack and a broom to clean up the mess.
It sends me on spur of the moment trips across
the country and makes me new friends.

It makes me smell better. It takes me on blind dates.
It runs up my phone bill. It helps me research
the 1980s, the Pacific Northwest, and French
cooking. It writes me a new-age nutrition plan.
It takes me to the gym that I hate.

Thinking of you makes me sit in traffic. It sits
with me in traffic. It buys me tequila. It buys me time.
It puts the over-priced vegetables back in the fridge.
It yells at the dog. It puts holes in my walls.
It tells me exactly what is wrong with me.

It sends me to bed early and spends more
time at work. It undresses me down to sinew
and bone. It abandons me and chases me down.
It devours generosity and licks at my tear ducts
until they open. It nourishes me.

Thinking of you pleads insanity. It skins my knees
and talks to me like a child. It criticizes and praises me.
It walks my nerves like a tightrope. It flashes me a
believable smile. It claws at my sides and leaves me
with fault lines. It hates me. It tells me I am beautiful.

It is ugly. It spreads my ribcage apart and sets it on
the nightstand by the bed. It slides down the staircase
and out the door. It returns weeks later with flowery words.
It is stronger than me. It is weak. It lies, then comes clean.
It stands up for me. It lets me down.

Thinking of you does not love me."



I saw you read this poem. It again bolstered my love for poetic form- you're a very good poet.
Christine, I fell heavy for Melissa last night. I mean really in love.
Honestly, I was avoiding you and like you. I was hoping that you would have called me.
To be honest, when I had long hair when In Through the Out Door was a rock album and poeple believed in Rod McKuen, I would have been something like someone saying,"You too fucking pretty." That's the thing with poetry, I have to write about if something happens. You touched my emotions.

Your dear friend, Scott.

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Stockholm

Stockholm: "


Idag har vi knallat runt på stan.

Tack vare Hannas iPhone hittade vi runt stan utan problem.. haha.


Vi började med ett besök hos Coco och sett den fysiska Cocoo-butiken. Såklart kom vi inte hem tomhänta. Halsbandet jag har på mig är också från Cocoo, men det hade jag på mig när jag kom, annars köpte jag tre ringar och min lillasyster en.


Efter det spenderade vi några timmar med finaste Annika.

Jag hoppas att vi ses snart igen! :D

"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo

Scott Loves Mella-Mella jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo: "

I fell in love with a guitarist last night.
I saw the band at the gallery.

Mella,Please call me- no strings. I don't have alot of time to get tickets to the Led Zeppelin show.

Love, Scott

617-642-1591

Scott Lord
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010

More Mella Jams with Brief Awakening and Midgeridoo Aug 2010: "
I liked a YouTube video: More Mella Jams aug 2010
"