I hate corridos. I hate the misogyny of them. The dehumanization of women, into property.  Into ownership. I hate the rape disguised as love. I hate normalization of it. I hate the machismo of it all. I hate that it's all they want to listen to at work. Because it reminds them of a home they had to abandon. I get it. And I hate it.

What a dangerous game I play. Trying to push myself over the edge. Dragging people with me. How long do you stay? Until the bills are paid? Until you can't stand it anymore? Until you succeed in pushing everyone away and the us nothing left.

Every time I want to say hello,  she pulls my hand away.  She says "don't. " says "you're only going to do them harm"
and I will.
And im sorry.
Very very sorry.

I was a girl in a bookstore.  In a coffee shop in a bookstore.  I was telling a boy about a girl that wasn't me. A rehearsed script of another time. I didn't know how to be there, only that I didn't want to be.

Today I am a shell. Today i am telling a broken boy to fix himself with just a hint of self disgust. Just a hint of hypocrisy.

I do not want to fix.  I want to break.

Things are easier today.  I do not know why. It is easier to reach out. Easier to not cry.  It's like I told my body,  hey, you have 2 days off, you can cry now if you want.  All you want.  And my body replies ok. But i'm good now. It's like the act of saying it's ok to not be ok made me ok. Or maybe it's that it's the second week in my pill pack and I slept for as long as I wanted to. And my roomate is gone so this space is mine again. And I haven't eaten today.  And I barely ate yesterday. There's something about this emptiness that fills me. Isn't that strange.

I would tell you that it's been a daze. Weeks of just existing. I still am. Existing. I would tell you that when the car hit the one in front,  I didn't feel it.  Not a thing. Nothing matters. Having a car, not having a car. Walking, breathing, friendships,  fucking. None of it matters.