She loved her lips, the soft curve up and sharp curve down, coming together to form a cupid’s bow. Her lips were a good thing, and she was grateful. Her eyes were a good thing too. She had loved her eyes since the first time she was loved because of them. “Your eyes,” a lover had said. “They shine like Gold!” The girl had blinked, confused, but her lover interpreted it as flirtation and had leaned in for a kiss. “They are?” she’d asked, breaking away from his lips “They are,”

When I cut my hair off, I thought I looked sick. Under all the sticky-up blonde was just sickness, and death. I thought about returning to the places I’d left but realized I couldn’t or I’d encounter sickness and death. Community is impossible to create in a place that can’t retain it. Where people stay and always go. Life is nestled in between two families -- life locked. Hair falls out when your adrenals start to drain it. Follicles nestled into rot. No one can stay,