💥 SCARED 2 DEATH by black dresses
⭐ recently, a double length bus was deployed on my usual bus route. that's the one route that doesn't really use double busses so it was a big deal. the driver went on the loudspeaker to talk about it and everyone cheered and clapped for him.
🪦 my wrists hurt from writing. one wrist. four years of unhealed repetitive strain. i never finished my art school portfolio. sometimes, i think this was for the better. i keep going through mourning periods. one mourning period. turning myself inside out. my wrists hurt. one wrist. kind of stupid. i think about art school and it makes me miss standing in the studio 'till my knees bend backwards. mixed up ideas. right side out.
🩷 i feel a little stupid making my friend do my first t-shot for me. “sorry for pussying out.” i cry three different times in as many days and spill as many secrets. in the days after, it’s like i keep seeing color for the first time. “was your hair always this green?” he glimmers in front of me like grass that’s finally bright and sunwarm, like the shiny plastic-y booths at the 24hr diner we’re becoming regulars at, like the sturdy linen bandanas we both tie into our hair before popping water balloons over each other’s heads. i suddenly feel like myself. i eat three hardboiled eggs and four pieces of toast and an order of greasy homefries and burnt bacon and drive home still hungry. the weather is hitting the 80s again and i neglect my finals to play tag and wrestle in the grass and stain the knees on all my pairs of pants. i take the bus into town just because and get drenched in the rain without an umbrella. i order needles labelled “not for human use” off of amazon and i imagine that next time i will push down the plunger myself.