Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry


when i was in the sixth grade, my neighbour would stick her head out the window while my friends and i waited for the bus. she would scream about how dangerous microwaves were for society. covered in a thick, pasty-white cream, which i can only assume was SPF 50 or higher sunscreen. her most famous line was: “i know i’m gonna go out, but it’s not gonna be skin cancer.” then she’d spend the rest of the afternoon in her rocking chair slurring insults at panasonic, general electric, and maytag in between swigs of watermelon-lemon soda water.

momma used to say that if it weren’t for all of the cussin’, her rants would almost be poetic. heck, if fruity loops had been around back then, she’d probably have become a somewhat successful myspace rapper. that’s the thing about poor mental health: it’s cute when you can wrap up someone’s eccentricities up with a nice commodifiable bow.



Trying to find the right words.

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