We Are So Used To Releasing Words.

The Boy I Loved Didn't Know I Existed. Then Again, He Was Obsessed With Camus, So He Didn't Know If Any Of Us Existed.

I Was Sixteen And Equipped With The Appropriate Genitalia, So I Cleared That Hurdle Nicely.

She Asked Me What Was Wrong, And I Told Her I Had To End It. She Was Surprised, And Asked My Why I Thought So. I Told Her It Wasn't A Thought, More A Feeling, Like I Couldn't Breathe And Knew I Had To Get Some Air. It Was A Survival Instinct, I Told Her. She Said It Was Time For Dinner. Then She Sat Me Down And Told Me Not To Worry. She Said Moments Like This Were Like Waking Up In The Middle Of The Night: You're Scared, Your'e Disoriented, And You're Completely Convinced You're Right. But Then You Stay Awake A Little Longer And You Realize Things Aren't As Fearful As They Seem.

Sometimes Desire Is Air, Sometimes Desire Is Liquid. And Every Now And Then, When Everything Else Is Air And Liquid, Desire Solidifies, And The Body Is The Magnet That Draws Its Weight.

Self-esteem Can Be So Exhausting. I Want To Cut My Hair, Change My Clothes, Erase The Pimple From The Near-tip Of My Nose, And Strengthen My Upper-arm Definition, All In The Next Hour.