14x17'', acrylic on paper
September. She sits over my bathroom counter and she mixes the bleach in purple plastic. I’m freshly 20. I mourn for the year that has passed me by. I wonder what I have changed — who I have become in this short year. I am so scared to jump. Too scared to board the metro. Too scared to fall. I run the pungent white mixture through a streak in my hair. Freedom from who I was before. The pigment is lifted. The curl texture my never come back, but hair grows as time passes by. This year it won’t pass me.
