Britney

The book on wild women tells me how to stop the predator mid-advance. I cut off all my hair and I am harder to grab. My curls are always on the defensive. But they aren’t tendrils of lilim yet; my fury is manual for now. I’ve accepted staying in the waiting room for growth to practice my patience. I think I’m doing well.

I forget a lot. I forgot this diary and I forgot that assignment and this one and oh! My headphones are at home. I don’t have to forget scrunchies anymore. There is fault in every reprieve but I have hope for One Day. One Day always changes, but right now it is the talk of after high school that no longer scares me and loses its clinical feeling as it gets closer and I pull more people from my orbit into it with me. The great expanse that may or may not let me down. But I’ll get there. ♦