shit.
how should i start?
should i be honest?
well,
some nights i try on clothes for over an hour.
nothing ever fits right.
i have to roll every pair of jeans i own because they’re all too long.
i don’t like how my legs look when i wear dresses with short boots.
i don’t know how to pull off printed leggings.
should i even go out at all?
who cares about the weirdos in this lame town anyway?
even when i drink, i don’t like talking to anyone.
i don’t know how to be charming.
i don’t know how to be bold either.
i’m too quiet.
too shy.
and some nights, everyone drives me crazy.
so,
no matter where i end up, i’ll probably hide outside and smoke.
wait.
mom, if you’re reading this, nothing like that ever happens.
i don’t smoke.
don’t worry about me.
i still don’t know what to write.
i don’t know how to write about music.
so,
how about this:
tonight,
i’ll spray paint my name across the whole town
and pretend i’m a badass.
whatever.
i’m leaving soon anyway.
but i’m not leaving with anyone.
i don’t even like anyone.
wait,
that isn’t true.
but it’s mostly true.
i could look rad with someone who wears very skinny jeans and sweaters,
who likes going to loud shows,
who likes talking shit about people.
do i sound ridiculous?
i don’t know how to be honest.
i don’t know how to be clever.
at all,
ever.
i’ll try to say it all like kitty,
but i can’t.
More about: Kitty
