VegetarianSquishy

We were supposed to go to New York-- you at some culinary school, me at NYU. Forget your fucked-up family, have the space to start over. I left because I could not speak to you when something was wrong. We were supposed to move to San Francisco, have a little house and two dogs. Wake up every Saturday morning and dance in the kitchen to blues. You left because you weren't the person who had wanted that, anymore. We were supposed to visit Bradenton, so you could introduce me to all your friends. Grow old enough together to have a child and a house in suburbia. I left because you were trying much too hard to convince me it was what I wanted t

My least favorite part of psychiatry is when they ask how I've managed to not kill myself yet. Because sometimes fucking is all that keeps me here. And the rest, I don't think they'd understand. I don't think they can know what it's like to lie in bed at night and know that somewhere, out there, is a kid who is just as scared as you were at 14 of coming out to their parents and wanting to live for that kid. Wanting to be there to teach them how to be angry and to guide them, warn them that every kind of hell holds hands and help them if they're sick like me. And sometimes fucking is all that keeps me here. So I tell the straight

They love me only while they have no idea that my inner thighs are lined with the blue bite marks of another woman's teeth as they ask about boys.