this isn't about you HD

//this is another visual piece to words i wrote. find more things i have written: http://www.nearlylauren.tumblr.com w/ help from my girlfriend, erin : http://www.larrytoolbox.tumblr.com text: my mom used to make strawberry milk for me every night. she knew how much syrup to use and what cups i didn’t like to drink from, until one night she forgot and put too much syrup so i stopped drinking strawberry milk. i used to keep things my best friends had given to me in a silicone swim cap, but i threw it away because being reminded that i didn’t like to swim anymore was too sad. i wonder if my baby dolls ever grew up to be something. i wonder if i would be different if i had learned to ride my bike somewhere other than a circle. i wonder if my mom misses making me smile by using my blanket as a parachute before bed—holding all of my fingers and toes in one hand. i was beautiful when i was a birthmark. now i’m stained sad and getting older doesn’t make it less. i wish i was young again. when everything around me was bad, but i didn’t know what bad was yet. people are mean. haven’t you learned to stop sucking your thumb? i got bleach under my fingernail today and sucked the blood from my gums, tooth decaying, mouth gushing, but you don’t care about my hurt. i don’t think i’m a bad person, but i got fucked up on nyquil, fit my baby shoes on my fingers, and pretended i was learning how to walk, because you carried me for far too long. this isn’t about you. i’m not writing about you, or her, or that stranger that smiled at me when i was high and my dog wouldn’t go to the bathroom. i hate making my bed for strangers. i hate knowing that strangers know i can’t make my bed. i hate every fucking thing i’ve written, because it’s never for me, but always ends up coming back to me. what if every time i say “you” i actually am talking about myself? stop making art for under your bed. stop making art for fridges when yours is still empty. stop deprecating strangers’ ages as being equal to the amount that they have lived. some people think more than others. some people think more of others. unplug your appliances. troubleshoot your candles. build worlds on your tires. let your pants get big at the knees. let your pants get tight at the waist. it’s ok. let’s become plants. i’ll miss you when you wilt. i’ll miss you when your petals get caught in my pages. i’ll miss you when you bloom and realize i was a weed. i’m sorry for plugging my ears. i’m sorry for telling you to be quiet so the neighbors didn’t hear you (crying). faces look the same to me when they cry. i hope you’re wondering how i am. if my nose drips when i cry. here you go. i don’t drink enough water. i stopped cooking my favorite vegetables. i fit my childhood into one moving box. i stopped listening to my songs. i stopped drinking tea on the porch. i use six pillows now. i haven’t touched my typewriter. i haven’t read any of your books. i threw my old hard drive away. i only wear boxers to bed. i tel