it's like taking my shirt off, and then my skirt. it means taking my tights off, then my bra. and there i am, in my panties. there is my skin. my face. my eyes turn bluer. there i am, and then there goes the panties. there i am in the mirror, making funny body gestures to myself and bending in awkward shapes. making faces. picking at bumps- touching bruises. feeling prickly little hairs on my legs. smelling my armpits. stretching. breathing. thinking. and looking. examining. imagining. burning. blossoming.

sometimes i have this feeling that when i think there is someone watching me, there is. a secret service of men. men who video my actions and write down every word i have ever or will say. or read. or learn. or scrutinize. or vomit.

prickly little people in the pages of my poor pink pussy.

right tight in love with a bright light, shining through the whole town.

lust in the bar, lust in and outside of my mouth, and lust all over his sheets.

i should call in sick for a year or two.

anais nin and the children laughing have made most of this year's journal possible.

i cannot wait to see what makes the next one.

and the next.

who am i next year?

and who i am going to be describes more-so who i am in the long haul, versus now.