this is the shape i’d like to be: indented. a few spaces in from the vertical drop of line after line of conversation.
whatever possessed me to think i could fight obsession with obsession, to treat things i’d rather not think about like they were my muse? positively foolish. more ever than angry.
maybe there’s a magazine at the salon where fingernails become jewels, a magazine that will tell me what to do: if i score circles on twelve questions out of twenty then surely i am a Warrior Woman that can confront the disgusting wherever it hides, and beat it down with my Trademark Fierce Lipstick. better find someone who can cut me a line i can’t refuse, i’ll think of no but show yes.