i’m better in person.

pictures destroy my essence.

thwarts my charisma.

numbs out my candor.

Someone like me, you can find on the pages of National Geographic.

Graphically displayed in all her indigenous labia hair and busted teeth.

Why is this physical body such a burden?

Why can’t I be free of its hooks?

Look, I don’t need compliments (ok, maybe sometimes, but mostly about how you’d like to fuck my brain) to keep me afloat, I just need you to understand that nothing makes me feel prettier than freedom.

I am currently growing out my body hair.


All of it.

Will I post pictures in about 4 months when my birthday rolls around?


Yes I will.

I am excited to allow myself the freedom to just be.

I never realized before how constrained I was to the terms shoved down my throat by society.

Yes, yes, all this shit is typical.

A gentle reminder that we’re all alike in our woes, but unique in our execution.

In a totally unrelated topic…

I’ve been experimenting with a different style of poetry. I have 4 poems already written and I’m hoping I could make a small chapbook to have available come the next poetry night at Book Show.

Exciting shit.

Invisible shit.

Something I take with me to get through this shit existence.

Misanthropy is a real thing.

Ask anyone.

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