somewhere between poetry and anarchy
i am bitch the diva
they ain’t ever gonna be able to taste me the way my mother made me
i smile and wave
i stay knowing i am a shadow too light to see
Angie’s eyes scan the disjointed kitchen for breakfast. She takes a handful of very stale Cheerios and rolls her eyes at the open plastic bag inside the open cardboard cereal box.
She announces to her mom that she is going out to investigate her new middle school. At…
most days i watch this video at some point; usually in the evening/ at the end/ when i’m tired and restless and unsettled from having updated myself on the day’s happenings: