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I can’t picture anyone daydreaming about me. I can’t picture someone thinking about me when they’re laying in bed before they fall asleep. I can’t picture anyone telling their friends about me. I can’t picture anyone getting butterflies because I hugged them, or even just because I made eye contact with them. I can’t picture someone smiling because my name lit up their phone. I just can’t.

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i am no one’s type.
i am a splotch and a shadow
some days i’m floral skirts and smiles like green tea
some days i’m flannel and existential dread

don’t you wish your girlfriend was a grey area like me

maybe the freckles on my cheeks are stars but maybe they’re bullet wounds
the music i make is never the same color twice

for forty days and nights i am silver crosses and lavender soap
but for the next sixty i’m black sweats and music like smoke

i will forever be “a” because I can’t seem to sit still for long enough to become “the”.
i am no one’s type.

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-no one’s type (llb)