from DEAR JOURNAL, TODAY I STARTED
A TWITTER ACCOUNT CALLED
‘IS UR ART POLITICAL’
I dreamt I was a peacock
No one wanted to fuck me
I filled my cunt with concrete
It crumbled into your mouth
Then I ate a banana
//
Punch me in the face like the guy who punched the Monet
Stab a cigarette out and dunk it in my coffee
At least then I would know why I am so ‘high risk’
//
A bad girl that acts like a good girl
Remember when it was cool to like Jesus
I didn’t realise until recently that Creed ‘with
arms wide open’ was talking about finding Jesus
I went to the christian rock show
I took the hot, but dull christian boy’s virginity
His eyes rolled to the back of his head
We used a condom
It was over in two minutes
He cried
Good christian boy
//
Imagine if I got paid for my emotional labour
//
I thought if we had wild enough sex maybe you’d text me back.
I got bored anyway
//
I threatened to kick him if he tried to suck my toe again.
When I said that he squealed and then came. He paid me $250, gave me three bottles of wine and showed me pictures of his three children. He told me his wife didn’t know that he likes feet and that they hadn’t had sex in three years.
I told him I only gets paid to have my foot smelt and that I wasn’t his girlfriend or his shrink. #emotionallabour