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It had gotten to a point where dressing was harder, where I ached while wearing clothing and wanted nothing more than to disappear when I walked out the front door. I didn’t want conversation— I didn’t want you to ask what set me apart or what lit my heart on fire. I didn’t know. I felt nothing. Nothing but hot tears on my cheeks. Helpless.
Westcoast girl with a love for (but not limited to and in non sequential order) fashion, my besties, dragonboating, poetry, my fam jam, art, local music, research, yoga, gender stratification, spinning, and film. I do not own any of the images unless stated please see all source links. The writing is mine unless otherwise stated.
