fucking wind all over the place. what the heck.

i always want to be irl until i go irl.

the irl is always greener on the url side.

i feel every ache of just-out-of-reach-womanhood
in my hair as i step out into the alley.

each strand is caught in the air
like a sad person seen with a momentary smile.

i want to scream when anything gets out of place.

i’m always batting my eyes at the fridge
and checking locks until i can breathe again.

who am i, is something i’m always thinking unironically.

i don’t know, is what i like to answer jokingly,
doubled over with self deprecation
which is, by the way, totally a privilege.

i get to wait around all day for my body
to hate itself even more
than it did at the beginning of the day.

this is the closest thing i have to ‘home’.

i was heading somewhere but i forgot.

this is what happens when you go irl.

i heavily advise against going irl.

the internet has made me very gay
and i’ll always be grateful to it for that.