strange torpedo: if I was your friend

friendship is a blood oath and i prefer us all a little out of control

If we were friends, I’d tell you to call when you’re ready to cut it and split it. No judgement if you want to roll around with trash, sometimes we find what we want in a pile of summer rot. I’m the discreet scoop. We’ll bury it later.

I’d tell you Americans say maybe when they mean yes, and I don’t know when they mean no. I’d wonder if it’s because they all sue each other. I’d yell commit, Americans! while announcing I’m leaving Los Angeles for the fifth year in a row.

I’d call to ask how you’re doing while choking on my own tears. You’ll never know how many times your voice has been a lifeline.

I’d tell you trouble is what makes life interesting after you confess last night’s path of destruction. I’d smile to wipe away the shame I see wrapping your tongue.

I’d flirt with you just to remind you you’re still desired. I’d tell you to wear the dress that makes you feel like a blade, not a flower. Sometimes sisterhood and sluthood are the same thing.

I’d tell you you are the only proof I have that divinity isn’t some church trick. That it’s a body daring the world to keep up.

I’d tell you the world is already bending toward you, even when you can’t feel it. I want you to feel like god sent you into every room you walk into.