finally get up and the plato fries and grapefruit and homemade oatmeal cranberry stressulein stares back at me.
like all my woes and endeavours are covered bc I can do what I’m supposed to.
and I’m left in all these altering expectations of who dictated “supposed’ this whole time. well I hold myself to higher standards because I was held to higher inifinitable standards my whole life. who owns it after that? and I tinker and toil and grieve every dream of a woe once lived even breathed into. could you tell I was making plans to abandon my post all those years? travel go to school internationally when there’s a will there’s a way. recruitment of every sordid back crime pathway to agency looking for a gal in a loveless regime of nope and hoodies tied across my waist to waste the effort of all my no.
what do you do with that?
well the dream is writing and I think for all those people that have breathes “you should be a writer . Id buyt that book!” guffaw hardy har har. well your nightstand loved me 10 years ago and your daddy read me like gerschwin in a lawyer and marine’s long island iced tea and (smash-mix) scented sweater [[20 years before that.] we both smoked camels then.
and even in my own prose : I knew it’d come up and town is fixated on the same question my ex-husband asks me when he’s mad at me : who are you sleeping with? Like dawg you have 48 marriages somewhere . and all my yuppies have to creep on a blind+deaf gal and come right to the post. I have no obsession.
why join. the turmoil that [you.] proceed to break under it when I never thought it was I who went fast and I am lightspeed years and joules and you are still kmh. kolt mock halt. where have you been that you are my otherside of party line members and all my friends.
give it 47 years and they group you all in together. by 70 it’s canon.
everyone I know is an axis runoff kid at school. jumpstreet definitely punched that in the noggin after 28, 7th grade experiences. h-yuh.
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I didn’t learn to love [slimy ham cracker packs.] until I was 21 and wearing on becoming american-cultured. [my jump-street family turned american on us in the runoff.] (I rather eat mortadella or liver strsheaaintant.) {I was just high af undercover treating cancer smoking weed and DEA was like give us Intel dawg you’ve done great for us and I was like fo sho dawg but I can’t leave my house. Set it Up.)
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