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& ur welcome.

fuck it. be a mess.

i want to cry, scream, or shout- anything that would allow this unbearable sadness to find a new residency outside of my body… but this isn’t new york. i can’t just scream just to scream. so, i walk back to my car with silent pants that are filled with the hope that someone might finally see me. but like my inability to scream, i’m also unable to be seen. this march is filled with madness and i’m stuck in this perennial state of pretending to be happy for those who are allowed to be seen being anything but.

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