[Got an anonymous confession or rant you just have to share with the world? Submit it to I, Anonymous HERE!—eds]
…and I don’t give a shit if you think I’m weird. Disassociate my way though a workout imagining the the late spring while kicking my heels back to my dimpled thighs. I’m into it and I know this song. I sang it loud before I noticed your face like I took something from you. I stop. I try to be polite. Your face the same each time I see you. I say hello and wish you well, limiting the interaction to what is socially expected? I don’t know what social expectation is anymore but it’s not polite. So I no longer think of these social interactions, your face, my muffled joy, meeting some unknown expectation. I love my freak self and navigating this word as me with what brings me joy. I’m sorry if you are miserable. I’m not sorry for existing.—Anonymous