call it pre-teen traumatic stress. thats what everyone else calls it these days. lumping everything together like were all in the same place. i tell them im 22, its been three years since ive seen that hyphenated double e. but its the 2 + 2 they see and nothing else.
baby emily.
child eyes for life; fuck it.
lets talk about how no one wants to fucking say anything anymore. its like words got too heavy or something. it scared everybody away, screaming “too much. too much.” couldn’t carry the weight of it, couldn’t handle it. everybody’s malfunctioning, things exploding, dripping fucking nothing. so i started having serious problems with wanting to shake people. wanting to ask what they’re made out of, cocking my head to the side because I’m really truly a curious motherfucker.
what’s inside you.
where are your fucking eyes.
ive been walking in heavy boots since i knew what sour grass was. been wanting to make conversation or something close to it since i can remember. befriending strangers on the streets. and their puppies. because things were being said and heard and we were going somewhere. but suddenly it got cool to put periods on everything and call it a day.
