My birthday felt like nothing. There was no reason to celebrate, and I didn't. I did what I always do: worked, biked, ate, felt anxious. I baked cookies using the few ingredients I had and I cleaned up my kitchen and put a load of laundry in the wash. I wished I'd had someone with whom to celebrate, but the people I'm happiest with aren't here. The people I want to be with are either memories or far from home. 

probably to be beautiful i need to wear a sleeveless dress just a few shades more tan than my skin, cinched with a belt that almost catches my waist-length, pin-straight, gold-brown hair. Probably i need a giant mouth and giant eyes (made bigger by a smear of eyeshadow and mascara) and a huge pendant necklace resting like a moth between my perfect breasts.


probably i need to wear heels.


probably i’ll never be beautiful.