This weather is amaze-balls. 60 degrees now with a high of 74. Perfection.
I feel like when I washed the honey off my face this morning it must have dripped to my neck because now my throat feels sticky.
Justin Timberlake said he was a whore on TV last night. And that the second part of his new album was slutty. This all makes me very happy to know. Very.
Cold War by Janelle Monae won’t stop playing in my brain.
I could really go for some of my auntie’s chili right now with the spaghetti and the beans and covered in crackers. But she passed away in 1998.
I hope the Arsenio Hall revamp works out.
I feel naked without my phone.
Its different because see, he needs her but he wants me. Its like air to breathe. I realize that she is air. I’m a tightly rolled blunt of the most delicious blueberry kush. Sure, he wants me desperately but giving up air to have me, is impossible. I get it.
You’re a someone to someone she said, but still, you’re a nobody.
Seriously, for me just touch me. People think that they can buy my affection and I’m just not cut from that cloth. Buy me all the things that you want and I will appreciate them for a season but if you just hug me, kiss me, tell me that you love me, caress me, or fuck my brains outta my ear I will relish that forever. And it doesn’t cost a thing. I’m easy and economical.
I really need to repaint my finger and toe nails.
My Mind, My Mood, My delicately poisoned pen... 