I’ve stopped stealing pages out of poetry books, but last week I pocketed a thesaurus and looked for synonyms for you but could only find rain and more rain and a thunderstorm that sounded like glass, like crystal, like an orchestra.
People are always trying to label you and define you. Like, “Oh because you dress like this, you must be… You must listen to… You must—” I’m the kind of girl who will wear her combat boots outside singing Jason Mraz while out to do something completely normal. No slaying baby fetuses or spray painting anarchy symbols on walls… Well, okay. Except on Thursdays.