Aspiring to be the bad assed bitch who says whatever I want. I want it always unfiltered and unapologetic. Not trying to win fans or converts, just listeners. I have the tendency to blurt out things and regret what I said. But I realize that actually what was blurted out was at the top of my brain. It wanted to come out. I can’t control how it may be perceived.

Healing by getting high on my own supply . Antidotes and potions, balms and spreads healing my head. My broken-in brain, that drain from constant, unsoothed pain. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t used to and accepted this game. This game that burns my eyes, that blurts out lies and burns inside from ugly truths.

Finishing all the food on my plate. Every grain of rice, all shreds of the meat that caked the bone. Plate licking, broth slurping, farting and belching. It was a good ass meal. The kind in some places they’d beat up, rob and steal, in desperation. In keeping it real. The pig is king and that’s why he is so disgusting. A survivor, a scavenger by any means. Deliciousness enhanced by wild , wretchedry, unfathomable gluttony. Like the slut in me imagining bukakke sessions, making out and bases, different ugly sexy faces, usually stagnant, don’t run in other races.

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