I itch all over but don’t even care.
My culture is my own and no one around has my culture.
My thoughts are repeating
My ears are vibrating behind my head.
1940’s teen culture.
I just wanna go up to people and say “hey you match the archetype of this person I was supposed to meet at this point of my life.”
The slimy stoner kid.
The posh pretty princess.
The awkward adult.
A bad role model.
I need a think tank to float around in.
Look dad, I ran one mile.
Spoiled only child.