It's easier to floss with barbed wire than admit you like someone in middle school.

In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.

I smile and play pretend through the Morning Show in the kitchen.

Gym should be illegal. It's humiliating.

To keep up appearances, I stomp my room and slam the door.

It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.

I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?