a little goblin

i’ve never been comfortable. not in my house, not in my bed. not in my own stupid skin. but every time i moved i began seeing it as a mistake. every choice i made felt wrong. i fought myself constantly and didn’t know why.

i was twenty four and it was confusing. why didn’t i know what i wanted? why did i feel less like a person every day?

when the perpetual evening in my own home started making me cry i started looking at apartments in baltimore. something wound up tightly inside of me. i just need to get out of florida. i just need to go somewhere else.

i theorized that what i was feeling was the fear of settling. not knowing what i wanted and experiencing the premature, unearned shame of not wanting more.

leaves outlined in white.

i’m more tenderfooted since moving to maryland.

i realize this while navigating the pebble drive of my best friend’s house pushing my bangs out of my eyes

when i’m inside again i cut them in the dusk light with those heavy duty kitchen scissors and i remember why i started to hate this place

all day the windows filter the sunlight into something greenish and faint, everything cast in sickly shadow