a rant/promise:
I can’t won’t deal with this shit anymore. Contorting myself, deforming in ways to fit into your box. My knee fucking hurts from sitting this way so long, jammed up against the un-budging walls of your ideologies. My throat is sore from yelling – the meaning of my words lost among to the looping muzak of your own beliefs. I am breaking out. It is messy, and I must stretch and blink and whisper – and hear my voice carry far and clear. And I step out among the boundless confusion. The clashing colorways of dashes and dots.
