blah blah blog 

text only: my love for people is only available in bulk it’s a way better deal if you get enough of it but your arms have to be strong enough to get it to the car suddenly there’s this surplus suddenly it’s overwhelming how can i use all this before it goes bad? it’s almost embarrassing this shameful hoarding this stockpile you tell yourself is good for emergencies when people open your cupboards they ask what the fuck are you preparing for? but it feels good to be

sometimes i still feel it piercing through me clawing at me nothing too drastic a minor inconvenience nothing tragic nothing, really how can a womb feel empty when it was never her kind? no room for her persistence irritated by an existence so humorously lost slumped and exhausted by the end of a race twice-ran where is her trophy now? sometimes i still feel it i wanted to wake her i wanted to thank her but wanting is a selfish thing it’s funny

have u ever worried your anxiety is performative...a paradox of anxiousness...all a big act...a perpetual loop...am i worse than a man...? it feels like a spectacle some flailing performance grasping at straws while gasping for air - always neglecting your hay fever juggling flame is much less impressive when no one else can see it when the heat is imaginary frantic arms unbridled by a false perception signal an urgent distress you beg to be treated for a bloodless