“you’re a stranger and my mom said to never talk to strangers” by Calvero

Are your
tattoos
scratch n’ sniff?

 

Just kidding.

 

I know
they’re not.

 

I was just
looking for
an excuse
to touch
you.

 

I was just
looking for
an excuse
to sniff
you.

 

I wanna
touch you
and sniff you
because
I dream about
you a lot.

 

I don’t even
know you
or anything
but sometimes
I dream about
holding
your vagina open
and sticking
my entire head
inside of it
and then
standing up
and wearing you
on my head
like you’re
a mask.

 

This way
your entire body
would become
a face
and the world
would look
at your whole body
as a face
and they’d take in
and admire
every beautiful inch
of you
instead of just
your eyes
and lips
and nose
and ears
and hair
like they normally
would.

 

Sometimes
I dream about
being tiny
and skiing down
the pale,
white powder
of your breasts
but purposefully
falling down
and wiping out
over and over
again
just so I can
smash myself
face first
into your warm,
bosomy flesh
and feel it
full force
against
my face
because
that’s the way
your breasts
deserve
to be felt.

 

Sometimes
I dream about
making you
cry
and then saying
sorry
and then making
perfectly timed
fart noises
that make you
laugh
because I have
a hunch
the most beautiful
that you specifically
could ever be
seen
is when you smile
and laugh
with tears
in your eyes
right after
you’ve been
crying.

 

I don’t even
know you
but I want
to.

 

I want you
and
I want you
just as you are
right now.

 

I don’t wanna
fix you.

 

I just wanna
snap
those little
devil horns
off your head
and eat them
‘cause they probably
taste just like
Peanut M&Ms
and then
after I’ve snapped
them off you
I’ll softly put
my hand
on your cheek
and say,
“See?
Still pretty.
Still so, so
pretty.”

 

Yeah…
I don’t wanna
fix you.

 

I just wanna
show you
that you’re still
beautiful
even though
you’ve been
butchered
more than
the rest of us
have.

 

I wanna
show you
you’re still
beautiful
because I know
you hate yourself
as much as I
hate myself
and I hate myself
a whole
fuckin’ lot.

 

I don’t expect
perfection
and I don’t want
perfection.

 

I want
a beautiful,
fucked up
mess
that I can’t
control,

 

that will
make me feel
more than
I’ve ever
felt
good
and bad.

 

I want
whatever
the world
hasn’t pilfered
away
from you.

 

I want
whatever
you have left.

 

If you give me
whatever
you have left
I’ll build
a really cool
box fort
around it
and I’ll arm us
with Nerf guns
(because real guns
scare me)
and I’ll help
protect it
with you
and that’s all
I can do
really.

 

I don’t even
know you
but I think I could
love you
and your tattoos
and all of your
pale imperfections
too.

 

I’m pathetic.

 

I don’t even
know you…

 

You’re a stranger
and my mom said
to never talk
to strangers.

 

The heart
drives the brain
mad
and then
you suddenly
find yourself
more alone
than you’ve ever been
and you feel
left out
and you can’t
stop thinking,

 

The whole world
sucks
and everyone
can just go
and eat
a bag of dicks.

 

I feel
too much,
too strongly
to ever
make it past
30.


Profile: Calvero

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