Christie hopped off the chair with a new tattoo. Her shoulder ached, but it was worth it: “There’s no point being grown-up if you can’t be childish sometimes.” Treating herself to new ink got her spirits up again. No more shit from the ex or the landlady, not today. It was just Christie and her words of wisdom- and a diner booth calling her name. She blew a kiss, slipped out the door and dashed through traffic. Horns honked angrily at the dancing girl, but it would take more than that to throw off her groove today.

I know it shouldn’t affect me, but it does. I feel incredibly unattractive because of it. I know it’s silly and immature, but I can’t help feeling it.

You took quite a few of what I though were good shots of me, but posted only two of them to your myspace photography page and took weeks to get me merely a few frames. After our “session” you did one with another girl and her pictures were slathered all over your page within days. I know it’s contrite envy, but it still destroys my self-esteem.

I really thought I was prettier.

plummet drain in a belly button of water bleach burrowing down to the pipes to maze a toxic path away from home my children will pilfer the plots of land they called no ones that were propertied out with invisible lines that still hold your weapons and frivolous excess will untie the wires you laced through the iron corset you've forced on me I will break out of these shackles you use to conform me to your wishes it may scar my face burn my hair in plumes of noxious smoke but my children will set me free