“Hold me back!” I screamed to myself.

So nauseous,
can't nosh this.

Breonna Taylor deserves justice.

All of the other things I was worrying about earlier throughout the day feels so pointless.

Stomp in the streets,
step light in your apartment.

Being home for most of each day, cleaning my floor daily is something that brings so much relief and pleasure.

 Isolation.

There are days when even nine hours isn’t enough to pull an opening paragraph out of my ass.

And without an opening paragraph, there is no second paragraph.

It’s late in the night and I’ve forced myself to step away form it. As I lie in bed, all I’m thinking about is why the fuck an opening paragraph is taking me so long. But then I’m realizing it’s because I know exactly what I want to say, it’s just taking a while to figure out how.

I’m at the point in my life where I notice every hair on the floor.

 We're all just one something away from everything.

"I'll cry about it later,
tonight I'm having fun."

From the song Cry About It Later by Katy Perry.