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Like dust floating soundlessly through the air, drifting into my lungs and flowing through my veins.
Like cigarette smoke, poisoning my body and soul.
Like a cold, clammy hand grasping at my throat and body, preventing me from breathing.
Like a stillness so absolute that it presses on my ear drums. No sound could be made.
Like a blindness. Everything is pale.
My poison is you.
The little things
There are always a lot of things that are special about every person. Like a freckle or a scar. I've always thought that these things are the details that make you an unique person. I have a lot of personal characteristics:
I have a crater in my eye... And I know that may sound a bit strange when you hear it, but I truly do. You know how the Iris around you pupil always looks nice and smooth? Well, mine has a nasty old ditch in it, and it looks just like a mooncrater.
I have many birthmarks. One on the middle of my left shin. One under my right eye. I love that one... I think it makes my eyes look a lot prettier. I have one on the top of the left bow of my lip, as well.
I once dislocated my ankle at gymnastics, so that now every morning when I get up, it pops oddly into place.
I speak more than one language: English and norwegian, and a little swedish.
I have competed for two national teams in two different sports: Gymnastics and Cheerleading.
I have a very small family compared to oth
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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