Northface, pretty face, thinks shes perfect, far from it, so not worth it.

Acts like she’s sure of herself, always knows exactly what to say, coping with the fact that tomorrow she has to get through another miserable day.

Surrounded by all the other girls, she’s the leader of the pack, only because she’s nice to them even though they all hate each other, and she knows they talk behind her back

Fully alive, life of the party, she can’t be mislead, crying on the inside, far from wounded, she’s already dead.

a horde of kale &western;
europeans longing to be gypsies, not
knowing their grand daddies
shoed us from the train station
at central square for the shape of our
noses. i like to imagine all these
blonde northface gypsy women
look in the mirror at the age of 8
&beg; God for plastic surgery, beg
Him to look normal, to
feel safe in the sugar cult
ure asphyxiation through her child's lips with so much hair on top
she's mortified she wants to make a
pact with God! but her grandfather
was enforcing national socialist curfew
on stolen earth in the winter of '43 &mine;
was in an execution line. if the german
troops tagged behind her beautiful blue
eyed smile &asked; which village she
hails from would she hashtag gypsy?