epicene-street-light:

i try to make my french poems kinda light and not that depressing but my english ones go like “lmao bitch you thought go d i e already” so, sorry for that i guess 

i also want to emphasize the fact i have literally no control over my style in english whereas i can do almost anything in french. my english-speaking inner self is a chaotic depressed bastard that has me catching glimpses of how fucked up i am and,,,,, this is Uncomfortable

like chill dude, i meant to write a silly short poem about fresh laundry, no need to splash half of my trauma history into it, it was about fresh fucking laundry ok