dear girls,
stop checking your phone.
he hasn't texted you back and he probably won't because he's a pea-brained high school boy thinking with the wrong head.
of course he is talking to the girl who has known the inside of every boy's mouth.
he has decided it easier to pick off apples that are growing closer to the ground rather than trying to get to the top of the tree, where you grow.
and no you should't spread rumors about that girl because just like you she is wading through this whole life thing the best she knows how.
go to the party where the air is perfumed with clouds of an illegal grass.
those are the nights you'll tell your children about with rosy cheeks and laughter.
take a ride on the back of his motor cycle.
who knows, maybe the wind in your hair and the boy between your legs will ignite a fire for something new you never would have been able to stumble upon yourself.
don't give yourself away so easily to the boy with lots of twitter followers.
he's temporary, so use his lips, but don't you dare let him stroke your skin and make you promises because they are stale.
dance when it rains.
show the gods above that a storm could never stop a smile from being on your face.
don't blow off that essay.
write and it write it fucking well because you never known when your teacher will actually read what you have to say, and it should be good when they do.
don't shave your legs and don't wear jeans because of that.
wear that red dress that makes your ass look 11/10.
guess what: legs grow hair, and anyone who has an issue with that can choke on something.
wear that yellow rain jacket and your tacky hat.
who the hell cares?
you shouldn't.
also stop apologizing for everything.
you're right, and it's time you start to act like it.
sincerely, yellow paint
