tea time

i don’t normally post what i write but sometimes I’m proud

to do this is supposed to be therapeutic, making photographs. being therapeutic is to shake an ailing element and i can’t medicate this feeling of hollow, ‘energy and choking but not crying-breathing’. I’m sitting there shooting it’s like i am opening my mouth to scream but nothing comes out just hollow air all of my organs are gone or something and i feel only frustration and i can make myself so beautiful and want-able how you like me and i shoot me how you look at me and it works and boys fall in love with me and i ignore them all and keep myself turned towards you hoping with mouth-gaping that you will finally look at me with your old-eyes and love me because i am being beautiful for you because you are beautiful to me even though you pulled all my insides out and stored them somewhere with your stupid car magazines and i am sitting here pressing shutters and trying to yell and “i can’t get out of what i’m into with you” i am stuck in stills all i can make are these silent stills.

silent and still.