I bite down on the orange, with the intact rind. My teeth break the thick skin, and I find the soft fruit beneath. I slurp the juice that's begun to dribble out of my mouth and down my chin. It burns my cracked lips and the sores in my my mouth I've acquired from gnawing the skin off the inside of my cheeks. Using my tongue, I feel around for stringy, hanging flesh to rip from the walls of my cheeks and roll around on my taste buds. I look up at the sky, the sun shining in my eyes - but I manage not to squint. It's a Thursday and the morning is ripe with possibility.

My feet crunch the grass. Softly smoldering the bright green flames. They rattle in the wind and scream upon my approach. With a glare, I urge them to shrivel. Before me lies a small ***** covered in weeds. The type that grow small white and yellow flowers. I lower myself into a cluster and weave the flowers together in a white-yellow-white pattern. Bees kiss my knees. I'm disrupting their means to make honey.

I can see a figure standing stiffly in the distance. The figure is a person. The person is Bailey. Bailey is my boyfriend that moved here from Chicago and talks too loud. Dating me makes him feel interesting. I imagine he likes to tell his friends he's dating a girl made up of sharp angles - a girl that hasn't shaved her armpits in over a year.

My ******* are the size of half dollars. I know. I've measured them. They're pink and puffy - jutting out from the small ***** of my breast. Contrary to what you might think - I keep my ***** hair trimmed short and tidy. My *** is flat and wide as a door. I am the inverse of every man's fantasy.