Unprecedented Times

 I keep trying not to see everything as a metaphor. Like the red dye that slips down the drain with the skim of bubbles when I rinse my hair out. How losing twenty pounds didn’t make me love myself. I still feel like I take up too much space, and feel the need to apologize for it. Twenty-plus years weren’t enough to fix that. Cut my hair, but the same eyes stare back at me. Still waiting for the weight to lift. It’s dropping slowly. Right now I want bangs, and to chop it to my chin. An ode to Billie Eilish's 'Male Fantasy.' I don’t even know what that means. It feels important which is silly. It’s hard to separate the superfluous from the important stuff.

It will grow, either way, it’s all subject to change. No one told me your twenties were like this. So disconcerting and bleak at times. But also inspiring and bright. How the world feels like it’s ending, but we’re just playing cards at the table happily ignorant of the stakes.

Purposely ignorant of them.

All of us sporting

Bloodshot eyes.

Signs of stress.

Forced smiles.

 I always wondered how people lived through unprecedented times and I guess just like this.

 

(This is why I can't write at night I'm incredibly melodramatic)

 my very ridiculous way of being like I cut my hair. The next post will be normal I swear.