223

i smiled at the memories but then they came back to hurt me

 --9.3.17

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i have an associative memory. more than most people, at least. the feeling of the air in my lungs today made me dance in the front yard as the music filtering through my earbuds brought back memories of good times.        good times?    good feelings. carefree. my chest tugged. i shut the feeling out.  i wanted to run, to smell a bonfire,  to play capture the flag with a bunch of rowdy boys. i wanted to pretend i was a spy and peer around trees, anxiously looking for  the other team. i wanted to be alone. i wanted to be with someone. i wanted to be younger. i wanted to lose myself outside and forget my thoughts. i wanted to run so fast that my problems didn't follow. i wanted to be free. --1.10.18
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i hate my big forehead. i hate my bumpy, too-big nose. i hate my too-wide mouth and smile. i hate my round face. i hate my stubborn, ugly curls. i hate my big shoulders. i hate my long, skinny arms. i hate my small nails. i hate my scarred up back. i hate my small chest. i hate my belly. i hate my misplaced, nonexistent hips. i hate my ugly, scarred, bruised legs. i hate my big feet. it's late at night and i hate myself again --3.12.18
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