I’m chilling and doing homework tonight. Leaning into it.

Last night one of our suitemates (Julia) turned 21 - she’s barable. Not that we get carded anywhere - I’ve never had trouble getting into clubs or ordering drinks - I mean never have I ever.

She had her birthday party at a place called Mory’s, in New Haven, which is very Yale themed. We ate dinner in the “captain’s room,” where every picture on the wall is a Yale team captain of some sort. They even have a whiffenpoof plaque. It’s so Yale-core it’s funny.

Have you ever heard of a drink called a “Singapore Sling?” Me neither, until last night. Then, somehow, there were undrinkable oceans of it. I had six of them, sitting at a bar and I felt nothing. Then I stood up and my bones seemed to liquify. Leong and Anna reeled me in.

I was hangin this morning though, I mean rocky-socks drunkover. My senses seemed sharper, my optical nerves dialed up all the way. The air seemed bright and I swear I could’ve heard the sun burning if people would’ve just stopped all that annoying breathing.

I had a biochemistry quiz at 9am and I can’t wait to see how I did. Later, at breakfast (I had a piece of toast), Peter felt free to offer his sensible, 26-year-old, bropinion. I said, “You’re so wise,” as I steel-eyed him, “I-guess-you-never.”

By the afternoon I was back on my toes. Almost every night my roommates and I sit around a low table in the common room of our suite, crossed legged, on cushions and do our homework. It’s less claustrophobic than sitting in our rooms alone and we usually have some music on, lowkey, in the background.
We’d just heard “Love Story,” by Taylor Swift.

“I like songs that make love sound easy.” I stated.
“Oh, because it IS easy,” Anna says sarcastically, “grab yourself a physicist and make a TikTok song.”

“Hey! I’ve got a beef with TikTok artists, I said. “At first, they release these stripped down, intimate, acoustic songs that feel personal, and then, if a song hits, they put out a new version that’s totally overproduced.”
“Right.” Leong agreed.  
“Oh, yeah,” Sophie said, putting her hair back out of her face with a comb, “and some artists' voices are suited to simple accompaniment and the newer versions just don’t hit as hard.”

“I think Phoebe Bridgers is an example of production done right.” Anna said. “Her material continues to sound intimate and stripped down even though it’s no longer just her and a guitar,”

“On Tiktok,” Lisa adds, “when a new song works, I feel a connection, like it could be me recording a song with my guitar - so, I support them.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I updogged, “there’s a place for overproduction but sometimes the instruments don’t even sound real, like when they go all out electronic - then they lose me.”

“The big-music might drown-out the artistry we liked,” Anna opined, “but maybe that’s how they heard it, as songwriters, in their imagination, but they couldn’t afford it - the new version rectifies it.”

suddenly
i completely
understand
tiktok
it is a direct
result
of the time
and is responding
to a clear
demand

TikTok is pure trash
Except for the girls and gays
All of them are lit

I know
you belong to somebody new
but tonight you belong to me

Wo khte lhja bdlo bolne ka or filter bhi lgaya kro

Kahte Aap ** jaoge mashhoor, mahfil toktok pe lgaya kro

Hmne bhi keh diya unhe agr raye achi de na sko to faltoo me muh na chlaya kro

#carryminati
#itssadyboy
#skirtmen 😂😂

10 pm
i saw this ******* tiktok she was so pretty
12:33 am
why does everyone my age look so much better than me
2:45 am
wow i look nothing like these girls
3 am
i'm going to starve myself and maybe i'll look right
4:56 am
positive affirmations. i am beaut-no. i can't compete
8 am
i can do better
10 pm
i saw this ******* tiktok she was so pretty

I’ve gone over tiktok, then instagram, then tiktok then
facebook and no sign
no sign of you, this is odd that you would
after a year of dumping me with no contact,
saying you are happy with her,
that you’d stay gone, today as well.

Oh I know .
I know one does not love like I love if one
has not got damage, you feel so sweet in my
head; in real life, I might push you
away, in here you are mine, forehead pressed
to me, mine, I keep
your heart in the palm
of my hands, like
a baby bird, I keep it
gently, I could
break its bones
real easy, I would
never,

in real life you hold my head,
a sickly child all over
again, I cannot
hide my eyes and pretend
I am invisible like I did
then, I know

you have seen me, you have seen me
and you will not say the words;
when you do not
speak them, I want to die, you
call me friend, in real
life you frighten, you
do not want me, or that’s
not what you said, you said
you want me but

can’t choose me over her, said
you were happy, now here
I am, here, it’s been so long
you’ve crushed it and still,
somehow it
pumps, I

dreamed briefly of
crashing into rocks
instead of you, not

for you, for men,
all lovers betray,
I still have the note,
sits hollow and quiet, in
my google docs, IN CASE
I **** MYSELF, I edit it
sometimes, add people, it's
in comic sans, just to
**** with you all,

but days like today I imagine
I imagine you and forget you are
not coming back ever,
ever, not as a friend,
not as a lover, not
ever
not coming back, ever

I watch videos of me imagining
your reaction,

look at angel numbers, google the meaning, and
twin flames,  

when there’s nothing to hold on to -
I invent it. I hate that I am like this,
it’s why I survived.

I hate that I am like this,

how I love you is not
normal, one should
not love like this, It's
okay, I just need
to **** the hope, I need
to make the hope stop.

Tiktok
The clock says in a hurry
Tiktok
The clock croaks in a constant rhythm

Pit pat
The rain rattling on the roof
Pit pat
The rain runs down in a fast marathon

Dug dug
The heart of your mistress beats
Dud dug
The heart of your lady pulse in a slow dance

Your lady in her white dress
On the floor she lays
Her eyes closed
Her hand closed tight into a fist

Her light lavender hair
Splayed around her head like a halo
Her bottom lip is bleeding
Her breathing unsteady

Kling klang
The chimes sings in a high note
Kling klang
The chimes chants in an attempt of announcement

Woosh woosh
The wind blows harshly
Woosh woosh
The wind whispered loudly

Dug dug dug
The heart of your mistress beats
Dud dug dug
The heart of your lady pulse in chaos

The clock
The rain
The chimes
The wind

Even her heart
The letter clasped in her hand
That contains the news of your demise
Reminds her of what she lost

Drip drip drip
The tears streaming down her face
Sniff sniff sniff
The grief starts to set in

Teens
In
Kilts
Trying
Odd
Kicks

skipping rocks and skipping meals
magazines are teaching her to eat less, no matter how she feels

models on instagram, tiktok, youtube, and twitter
setting unrealistic expectations with their photoshop and glitter

in size two jeans, hoping to squeeze into ones
it looks like she's living the dream, but in reality, it's not a good one

1000 calories or less, isn't it nice?
she's living in an eating disorder nightmare disguised as paradise

she's losing weight, but not feeling as though she's won
she doesn't want this anymore, when will this be done?

she's dropping pounds, but feeling so shattered
compliments left and right, but it's hard to feel flattered

she's eating nothing at lunch until she's too light to function
the cafeteria starts to feel like a dungeon

feeling sick when she eats "too much"
kneeling in the bathroom using the toilet as a crutch

and then she overcompensates with exercise
when will the people around her start to hear her cries?

things are out of control, it's becoming too much for her to handle
her world feels as though it's starting to dismantle

her mental & physical health is deteriorating as she loses the weight
when will they see what it's doing to her? hopefully before it's too late