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I brush my teeth like I’m getting ready for war. Or I forget to for three days until my canines are wearing sweaters. Temu moisturizer like battle paint. Who knows what’s in there. Who cares. Upside-down Claddagh on my ring finger like a threat. And it might be. I put my hair up like a woman with secrets— on the days I brush it. A bumpy bun the rest of the time. I shed like a stripper. I strip like a thief. I walk out the garage door like I invented sorrow. I get in my car like every song from Reputation to Tortured Poets was written for me. I wave to strangers like I’m about to die. Cross the street like it’s a choice. Clock into work like I have a hit on my head. I **** Elf Bars like they’ve got confessions inside, and blow out like they won’t give me cancer— because they can tell I approach them with pure intentions and a positive spirit. I know how to make an exit that feels like a funeral. I know how to hold a coffee cup like I’m accepting an award no one else can see. I take bites of dropped chocolate chip cookies but spit them out before they ruin me. I spend too long staring at my own reflection, just to make sure I still exist. I catalog new moles. Curse the milia above my eyelids. Buzz off my mustache. Denounce my chin hairs. I think thin. Sometimes I blink just to feel time move. I keep novels in my bag like armor, and a journal like a last will and testament. The expensive pens from Amazon that don’t crawl up my left hand like a disease. That don’t smudge the page like I have something to hide. I pay for Spotify. Skip the songs that hurt. Play the one that ruins me. I cry on the train like I’m filming something important. Because I will be. I want everything I feel to mean something. I want every single ache to echo. I want my poems reverberating in the minds of people who are emotionally legendary. I want the world to apologize for not feeling it first. Sometimes I walk like I’m being watched by everyone who’s ever left me. Sometimes I smile like I know something God doesn’t. Sometimes I think I was born just to document what it means to be alive in the most dramatic possible way. Because I am the first girl to ever feel anything.
0
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 9:16 AM UTC
Kiernan515
I Am the First Girl to Ever Feel Anything
I brush my teeth like I’m getting ready for war. Or I forget to for three days until my canines are wearing sweaters. Temu moisturizer like battle paint. Who knows what’s in there. Who cares. Upside-down Claddagh on my ring finger like a threat. And it might be. I put my hair up like a woman with secrets— on the days I brush it. A bumpy bun the rest of the time. I shed like a stripper. I strip like a thief. I walk out the garage door like I invented sorrow. I get in my car like every song from Reputation to Tortured Poets was written for me. I wave to strangers like I’m about to die. Cross the street like it’s a choice. Clock into work like I have a hit on my head. I **** Elf Bars like they’ve got confessions inside, and blow out like they won’t give me cancer— because they can tell I approach them with pure intentions and a positive spirit. I know how to make an exit that feels like a funeral. I know how to hold a coffee cup like I’m accepting an award no one else can see. I take bites of dropped chocolate chip cookies but spit them out before they ruin me. I spend too long staring at my own reflection, just to make sure I still exist. I catalog new moles. Curse the milia above my eyelids. Buzz off my mustache. Denounce my chin hairs. I think thin. Sometimes I blink just to feel time move. I keep novels in my bag like armor, and a journal like a last will and testament. The expensive pens from Amazon that don’t crawl up my left hand like a disease. That don’t smudge the page like I have something to hide. I pay for Spotify. Skip the songs that hurt. Play the one that ruins me. I cry on the train like I’m filming something important. Because I will be. I want everything I feel to mean something. I want every single ache to echo. I want my poems reverberating in the minds of people who are emotionally legendary. I want the world to apologize for not feeling it first. Sometimes I walk like I’m being watched by everyone who’s ever left me. Sometimes I smile like I know something God doesn’t. Sometimes I think I was born just to document what it means to be alive in the most dramatic possible way. Because I am the first girl to ever feel anything.
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