I am prone to ridicule. Insults stick to my side like fly paper. Their little legs and wings twitching on my skin and that buzzing drills holes in my smile. Makes it more crooked and makes my words come out funny.  

Thank you for bringing back the slop and grief. That heavy throw up feeling in my chest that creeps around my throat like the snickers and glares you think I can’t feel. 

 I’d finally gotten over the days of sitting alone, hidden back from clashing laughs and discrete smirks, that I could see from beyond the outskirts of skylines.
All of it came back; vibrating my bones to nervous tremors.

My breaths so short it can barely reach my lungs.  
All thanks to pretty faces with quick tongues.

-B.