Mom goes on telling me i'm fat. It's ok till my uncle keeps silent.
I want everyone to shut their pie hole.
He says I need movement. Of course I do. But I have no time for it. Almost. And when i do have time i have no wish to do it. I mean morning is fuckin... MORNING. With its cold moist air and frozen asses. With its irritatig waiting for the bus. With its gases filling the atmosthere.
Every morning I prey God to make this day better then it's supposed to be. And he does. My king sage lovely God. Thank you for saing me from myself. Love you, dear.