Her immune cells responded to that tiny little needle wound as they normally would, and only then detected something wrong with the surrounding cells, attacking the cancer they now associated with that trivial damage.

and it's a perfect circle for capitalism, isn't it? they make trillions of dollars asking you to lose weight so that you may be a more valuable asset. you need a nose job and lip filler and a bubble butt. you need more time at the gym, more protein, less freedom. you need your hair removed unless you're a different kind of person and then you need to be so hairy. you need a ton of makeup unless you're a certain skin color and then fuck you, we're not matching our foundations to you, buy 2 and mix 'em. those clothes are cringe now, buy a whole new wardrobe. you need 18 kinds of skincare, you need 12 hair products, all must-haves.

"here's the steps i'm never skipping in my morning routine - and how it made me rich. we all have the same 24 hours, right, you should just wake up earlier. click the link in my bio for the pills that made me like this. for the class that taught me how to prioritize myself. for how to be a better you; and by that i of course mean how to be beautiful."

and the way people talk about bodies. holy shit.

and it's tiring, and you are exhausted, and you are insecure because of course you are - how could you not be? nobody looks like you. nobody else has loose skin or bad skin or scars or back pimples or stretch marks or cellulite or a broken nose. the filter literally sorts all of that out, and leaves beauty behind. the things that are yours are erased.

so you buy the $14 mascara because honestly it really is a nice mascara and it lasts for a while and besides, it gives you a little boost of confidence. so you buy the expensive face mask because it is your skin, you deserve like, one nice product. self-care is now a product, isn't it? self-care isn't just meditation, now you need to download this meditation app, and then you'll be okay again.

and it's so fucking hard to find your way back to your body once you've gotten used to the price of it. because, what, you're going to pay 200 dollars a session for a "somatic" therapist? (you don't even really believe in a lot of "somatic therapy." what the fuck are they saying when they say "trauma is kept in your hips". the body keeps the score; but like, you believe the real help for trauma lies in neuroscience. you'll still do the stretch just in case, but come on). and the thing is that you are selling your body - no matter how gentle your work is; your time on this earth is limited, and you are selling hours of that time in order to make a miniscule profit (ha! as if breaking even equals "making profit").

so how do you take care of the thing that is essentially your tool? capitalism recommends you hone it. you certainly don't feel better when you rest; you feel almost self-indulgent. quick-fixes make you feel worse, annoyed with yourself for stopping at a fast food place; calculating how much cheaper it would have been to just buy the stupid ingredients and get over how tired cooking makes you.

i hold hands with the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen and someone sighs when they see me. “do they have to make everything gay?” she asks her friend, loudly, “like, do you have to force those views in my face all the time?” i can’t stop blushing. my girlfriend holds my fingers tighter, tighter, tighter, until my knuckles are white, and i let her. somehow, this is us, protesting.

my father’s cuban blood stains my skin, i think. when i am honored with a position in the dean’s private council, a boy sneers, “you only got in because you’re hispanic.” did i? i spend the rest of our meetings wondering if i was selected for my stellar academic record, for the multiple recommendations, for the clubs i lead - or if i was just a move the dean made, to make use of me. when we all take a picture, the dean brings me in the front. in the first three we take, i am not smiling.

it is odd. “i exist.” i say, “i deserve to exist.”

i hold hands with the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen and someone sighs when they see me. “do they have to make everything gay?” she asks her friend, loudly, “like, do you have to force those views in my face all the time?” i can’t stop blushing. my girlfriend holds my fingers tighter, tighter, tighter, until my knuckles are white, and i let her. somehow, this is us, protesting.

my father’s cuban blood stains my skin, i think. when i am honored with a position in the dean’s private council, a boy sneers, “you only got in because you’re hispanic.” did i? i spend the rest of our meetings wondering if i was selected for my stellar academic record, for the multiple recommendations, for the clubs i lead - or if i was just a move the dean made, to make use of me. when we all take a picture, the dean brings me in the front. in the first three we take, i am not smiling.

it is odd. “i exist.” i say, “i deserve to exist.”

Band Names: Charity Kill, Jane Snowball, Love Butcher, Revolution Sixsmith, Humble Thatcher, Thank Holland

D&D Character Names: Peregrine Doyly, Lancelot Wells, Squire Boone, Chardus Alatheo Eyre, Grissel Toldervy, Rutoron Rettle

Stripper / Porn Star Stage Names: Virgin Kent, Dykes Alexander, Charity Nutt, Patience Rawbone, Sarah Sparkling, Fountain Sterrey, Reuben Rawbone, Discipline Matthews, Jane Snowball

Pro Wrestler Stage Names: Wilde Wilde, Hercules Cross, Constant Shield

Lumberjack Folklore Characters: Old Adams, Cotton Brown, Silence Williams

Lumberjack Folklore Cryptids: Patience Fish, Barb Bee

Fake Names Your D&D Characters Made Up To Get Into A Formal Event: Eustace Cockery, Corn Russell, Marvelous Scanfield, Elizabeth Poope, Gey Poope, Job Bland, Love Beer, Rich Whale

Soulsborne Boss Names: Returned Elgar

It would raise braille literacy more than anything else I could imagine - among both the blind and the sighted. Currently braille is actually vanishing due to an increasing reliance on audiobooks and screen readers. 

Closer to God

Gaza is under siege, and the price of staples has climbed tremendously. Community kitchens have been forced to close due to lack of supplies, and have been unable to afford to replenish their stocks.

Gaza Soup Kitchen is a grassroots organization that uses money from global donors to feed thousands of people every day. Their most recent campaign was to provide food parcels for Ramadan, and they are going to struggle to keep people fed in the midst of this new, horrifying war.

and you tell yourself it’s just that you’re trying to be a good person, but maybe it’s that you feel good for a second only when you make other people feel good. so you do things like go to their parties you won’t dance at and make them pies you won’t eat and kiss people you don’t love and drink things you don’t want and tell them advice you won’t follow and laugh, always.

and that makes you feel like a bad person, because sometimes when you’re sitting there, and they’re raw and spreading, you wonder why they don’t see your blood too and gosh, isn’t it selfish when you open your mouth and say the truth: nobody wants that from you. everybody just wants you to listen. and be good. and swallow the knuckles off your pointer fingers and wrap yourself in muslin and follow the river into the deepest parts of the ocean. 

you’re so good at making others feel good. there’s always a better rug but you’ll lie down for them anyway. there’s always a better highway but you’re already driving. and who cares that you need help. who cares if you’re dying. it’s all you, and you’re all good, and it’s okay, because you can floor the gas and people will just think you’re unafraid of dying.