There’s two forces fucking battle royale-ing in my mind.

I smoke more weed than my family would like to believe.

I have trouble sometimes speaking in public, and no one seems to either care enough to help me with it, or they just ignore it.

I blacked out on Halloween. Too much rage.

I experiment with drugs.

Euphoria is a beautiful word.

I love being called Darling.

I use grammar.

I secretly feel bad whenever I instinctively kill a bug that’s crawling on me. I feel like it just likes me or finds me interesting and wants to explore me or something, and that shouldn’t result in death.

Coo Coo Kachoo

I totes phonebanged TALLYMARK.

If you have a problem with any of these no longer secrets, don’t cause a scene, privately and maturely talk it over with me.