it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like it was when we were all but children. it’s dark and mysterious. you hear ominous footsteps in several pitches and consistencies. you never know what’s around that corner or behind that tree. maybe it’s a pitfall? or maybe it’s the portal to a better, much happier place.

we never know what’s lurking in the dark so be careful, and become the bad girl you were raised to be.

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bookstores used to be our home

i wish us back to//when we used to//hunt for clothes//at the mall//counting our pennies//down to the cent//guessing on the tax cost//before coming up short//laughing at full pockets//at ragged old jeans//we’d spend hours//in the bookstore//thumbing through//e.e. cummings//and edgar allen poe//like they were//the very oxygen//that was keeping us//alive.