Breadcrumb #211


The worst thing that ever happened to me was discovering my body, how it blushed and fluttered when I thought of who I wanted to be with. I didn’t ask my father what to do about it. He was only interested in the towering aspect of fatherhood; a fist was more effective than a sentence. I always did my best to not leave any evidence in my laundry but my mother knew what was happening as my chest became a carpet one hair at a time.

    At night while everyone’s asleep, I look out my window. I imagine buildings sprouting up from the plague of houses around ours. They sprout high enough to clot the clouds and the stars; my body is a crowd waiting for the right words to riot.

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