
because it’s easier to bow than to stand up straight and look your Father in the eye.

My childhood: a portmanteau of stale sugar highs & empty accolades to cover up what was ultimately a failed late modern capitalist project.

Until today, to find the only Real things you had left were delicious bitterness and delirious rage.

To touch the same paper so much Older & Sadder but also (slightly) Wiser & (finally) more Content & yet so much Rage courses through my veins at my Complicity in my own degradation.

Broken women at the supermarket shuffling round and round looking for a hidden exit