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,

I don’t want to be a mess anymore, I really don’t Drunk on rage, spilling ashes onto my sheets and on the floor. If I had died today, I think I would have found my life a bore. So I keep on living the same day over and over. Pretending I am eager to see what else life has in store. But that isn’t true, or everyday wouldn’t be the same. Endlessly drowning in complacency until it turns into rage. Stop drowning woman! Get up. You have eggs in your uterus, you have a reason to ke