this comes in at a time when i wanted to die. i hated my friends. i hated the way i looked. i hated the way my parents screamed at each other with me right in the middle of it. i wanted to die. how that death came about i didn’t care. shoot me, wreck, drown. i just prayed every night it would occur. i had the heart-crushing day and all reason went out the window. some man i had known for all of three days asked me to come hang out, it was almost eleven o’clock at night. i went, made the half-hour drive to meet him, hoping and praying he was going to kill me. he didn’t. fortunately, looking back at it. we sat in his car and talked until three. that evening i messaged him, a reply. and he didn’t answer it. that was the end of that story. and the beginning of the end of wanting death. ◠◡ maybe this was all some excuse to talk about myself. in case you have yet to realize, i do enjoy doing that more than i enjoy anything else. it gets annoying after some time, i know it just as well as you do. it is the one thing i am good at, the one thing that truly gives the inspiration. ◠◡ i lost my virginity to a man in the back of his car, a white honda civic, in a walmart parking lot. i had met him once before, in the backseat of his white honda civic, in the parking lot of a laundry mat. he chewed gum the whole time. i left sastified. ◠◡ i tried my best. my best doesn’t always transcend. i learned to write to please myself, because dr. crimmins seemed to enjoy my rants of getting railed in the backseat of a honda civic. you find creativity in those who just listen. for every misspelled word, he ignored. for my classmates commented on the realness of it. i just think i’m meant to suck at understanding the rules, because there’s such thing as freedom dust. ◠◡ nashville was my first venture outside of my own home, on my own. my friends and i in an airbnb. jami made us find love and spoiled us until our next trip where we argued because jami didn’t have a house on the beach. ◠◡ some guy i work with is trying to get me to send nudes. it’s a core memory now. he texts me every night and asks to see my pajamas. maybe he doesn’t want nudes. all my friends seem to think so. if he’d ask he would get a lot father, right now he’s just creepy. update; he got the nudes. ◠◡ i wanted a friendship where i was apart of their family. family vacations growing up. childhood photos. the whole two miles. i didn’t get that when i wanted it. i got it when i needed it. i stop in to see her mom when she isn’t there, and i take her little sister on late night gas station hauls. i sleep in her bed while she is at work and she buys me stuff i can not share. ◠◡ i am often left unsatisfied by the man because i can not communicate feelings. i left ones house to call up another where i made new memories at the food city. then the kmart. then the dam. i left having received no actual pleasure for myself, but being incredibly satisfied with the bruises and marks that tainted my body. he said i had earned it, to leave a single hickey on his neck. the next day he called, and said i didn’t leave anything. ◠◡ theres this lady that comes into food city with her son. i don’t know what she does for work, but she always take him with her. i know neither of their names but everynight around eight or nine they come in. i stop all my cleaning to admire her, her sweetness. she looks like one that will give you a run for your money, but she never fails to care for me. encouraging me to just leave one evening as the snow was coming in. she never bags her own groceries, but her son always does. i tried to intervene and stop, but he said he’d rather do it than for me to have to work more. ◠◡ i facetime men for fun. i enjoy being on the phone. i enjoy the crazy stories, fucking a laundry basket while on ecstasy, or getting head in a porta potty. ◠◡ a sense of contentment is something i have lacked for years. i struggled just being happy with my life until i took some control and made my head work for itself. life is enjoyable when the little things occur, the bigger picture does not matter. adventures at two in the morning, painting your best friends nails while he explains how he will be made fun of for this. this is not the end of this story. just the end of the end of wanting death.