everything is becoming sin as of late. anger, music, cold toes, a floating nightgown breathing on the hanger. the paper lanterns i ordered for my birthday, the vintage postcards i’ve pasted on my walls. familial discrepancies on rest, on money, on communication. blondshell on my record player, my gingham sheets shielding me from harsher realities.
i haven’t been to church in months, yet feel more loved by my creator than i have in years. i hope he isn’t disappointed in me the way i am.
i used to be so skinny.
i used to be so depressed.
i used to be a different person.
my feet carry more now yet fall lighter, and dance more often.
i’m worried my future in-laws won’t see past my confusion, my flightiness etched in the back of their minds. i’m worried what i was promised won’t flesh out until it is too late for me. I’m worried my doctors don’t like me. i’m worried those in charge of me wish they never offered me papers. I’m worried no one is in charge of me. I’m worried my perfumes are all putrid, i’m worried about the small lines i found intruding on my body, i’m worried everything i stand behind is falling, i’m worried i won’t be worth anything.
i felt anger for the first time in years last night; i couldn’t help but weep in my parents car and wish i had a black cat.