I’m tired of explaining myself

I find dead flowers more pleasant to the eye because of the way that they arch their wilted heads toward the ground, as if guilty knowing that they’ll crumble at the slightest touch. People that see no beauty in that are the same people that yell at their children for crying or insist that they “could of done that” when they see a wonderful painting, only they never prove it. God forbid we appreciate another’s fragility. One time I cried because the ink in my purple pen looked blue on paper and I worried that one day I’d lose the ability to see my favorite color. I constantly play music because silence makes things arbitrary, from fights to first dances at weddings. There’s a blood stain in my bed but I just sleep on the other side. A travel mug sat by my bed for four months last year. At night I’d imagine the pungent odor that would come from the dark sludgy ecosystem forming inside if I opened the lid. My sisters can’t understand why I can’t just pick up a shirt off the fucking floor. I think that people confuse laziness with purposeful defiance and concern with control. I asked my mother if she had any of my baby teeth yesterday and she simply said yes and explained how she could tell them apart from my sister’s because of the sizes. She is the only person to ever not ask me why.

By Sammy Massimino

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