jose cuervo, complete meĀ 

Drink, drank, drunk, gone.

You are the absolute one.

My go to, my flaw, my need, my want…

“If it stays with me, please don’t taunt.”

Last night was different. I texted my mom after having had probably 6 shots of tequila. Not a big deal, I’m used to it, but you can tell how early in the night it was–mom always goes to bed early. 

I’m with my bestie. Her place. We planned for something different, but we always stray from the original plan if it means MORE fun. 

I start the conversation with Mom. “I love you mommy!”

She replies, “I love you, too.”

“Just thinking about you. Night, night.” My text-accuracy is good considering Jose. 

“You know me well. I’m pooped.”

“Jose Cuervo is mean to me.”

“Me too.” She agreed with me. 

I suppose I’ve reached that point in my life: Where drinking isn’t a big deal and that my mom somewhat agrees with it and it’s totally ok that I text her. 

I miss her; it wasn’t a lie, I just hate that I hate her sometimes. She makes me irritated. It’s like she stays mad at the world and blames other for her problems and somehow it get twisted back at me and my family. Maybe it’s like that?? 

The last I heard, she’s not talking to my aunt–her own damn sister.

Here’s the petty part though: my aunt invited their parents to HER anniversary dinner. Not a big deal, right? Well mom hasn’t talked to my grandparents, like REALLY talked to them since I was 13, when I moved out of her place and into theirs. 

So, there’s al this issue of just them not speaking and just things being awkward especially when it’s a certain season when families are expected to be with each other. 

Christmas hasn’t been the same in years. Easter, thanksgiving, Birthday parties…

All that said, there was this really awkward time when I turned 18 and we had a big blow out. My mom was there. My siblings. My bio-dad and his new wife. Grandparents–from both sides. Many friends from school–which is unheard of because I’m fucking anti-social with friends around family.

 And my grandmother spend extra money on 2 cakes. I liked other designs and couldn’t pick, so we got both. I’m a spoiled brat…
But yeah! Thinking about mom sucks because I’m constantly reminded of how alike we are and reminded of the awkward life I’ve lived in her shadow and the shit she causes towards the family. (Don’t even get me started on my step dad.)
So, Jose Cuervo guides me away from those memories and relaxes me from the hard weeks I have at school. 


I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like you.

I practice smiling at him like I would want to when we wake up together. It’s the cute, “I think I love you and thanks for last night” smile. 

I imagine that my smile is quite expressive and perhaps persuasive, but as I look into the mirror, I see a huge mess. This is what he was smiling back at? 

Fuck. God, that smile. Did he mean it?

We wouldn’t have fucked that night, we would have made love. Sharing each other’s bodies, open to exporation and expressing our needs and getting them fulfilled–as many times as we each desire.

My thoughts are clouded by his blue eyes and stringy, messy blonde hair–which is long enough to be in a bun but never worn that way. I build castles in the sky a thousand miles high to reach his cloud nine.

We would enjoy the same things. We would enjoy listening to each other talk about things we don’t enjoy ourselves, but soon might because we’re passionate about it. We’d just be there for each other, two peas in a pod that are seamlessly knitted together like stitches of a wounded heart.

“I am here for you, never leaving.”

Who says it? I’m not sure. I’m really not sure.

He is unlike anyone. Completely unlike anyone I’ve met and I want to know more. I get the sense that we would make sense–right?  I want to know more. I need to stop wondering about our future when our present barely exists.
Besides, he’s only there on Mondays and Wednesdays. Sometimes Tuesday. Never Friday.

what do you see.

Surprisingly enough, a couple of boys have told me they like me–one, what, freshman year? Then another one this year. At this rate I’ll finally be dating someone in the year 2045.

You see, I don’t like them back. Not like I want to. I always use the whole “I’d rather be friends” approach and though I mean it, I would never want to be told that.

I’m always a fan of the “if they don’t know, they can’t reject me.”

But, for real? What do they see. One of the major reasons I don’t “put myself out there” is because I cannot find the balance of liking myself–my body, my mind, my logic, my memory, my conscious, my past–it all follows me and anchors me and drains me and I am stuck with the guilt of hating myself and left the pain of wondering why you don’t.

cold hot chocolate.

i sip. no one with me now. 

Starbucks–i watch cute bois walk by. 

of course. 

just thinking about this week; it’s felt like a roller coaster and I’m not too sure I’m ok with that.

things were supposed to get easier this round, what happened? 
despite my constant want for something different, I too, will get through this wretchedness that has seemed to snake its way through my comfortable, yet vulnerable life. 

ive never felt more vulnerable