like a snake that’s been artificially forced to molt over and over again, with the first taste of autonomy I’m left to look over all these past versions of myself, wondering which skin was really mine to begin with
I don’t need to die to haunt you. You’ll remember me every time you visit Colorado. Someone will make an offhand comment about home being a feeling, and your stomach will drop. My face will interrupt an Otherwise pleasant dream.
You’ll do a double take when someone with my hair color and curls walks past you. I will live in your memories like a ghost. You’ll wish I was dead so that it would feel like a justified possession.
“A firm conviction of the material reality of Hell never prevented medieval Christians from doing what their ambition, lust, or covetousness suggested.”
I’ll leave this here
I don’t rly like it when I see a very beautiful and put together woman smoking a cig. it just feels like if we as women are gonna do it we should look ratty. Seems like you’re performing.
I deserve to be in Lake Tahoe more than anyone else. Anyone that goes to Lake Tahoe is taking something away from me personally. It should be me. I should be there. I’ve earned it.
ads on nyc busses are like “join our adult soccer league :) or perhaps bring your child to learn pottery at the local community center :)” and ads on nyc trains are like “you’re gay if you don’t have 4-5 curated AI assistants whispering in your ear during your 9-5”
Tweeting with autocaps on is fine, a mere piece of performance art for the slop goblins to admire, perhaps even adorning their own pages with your stylistic musings