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i write to heal
prose

november

i’m cold. not quite shaking. not quite. but, almost to the point of shaking. i feel these pre-goosebumps coming on. this weird tingling. they feel like they might erupt at any moment.  my skin feels so taut this night. i finally feel paper thin. well, at least my skin feels

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prose

fear (of fashion)

august 19, 2011 — 10:16 a.m. Teen Vogue has this contest on Figment, a previously ambitious NYC-based social media platform for young writers. The contest is about “Fashionweek.” After enduring several contests revolving around inherently late millennial, YA topics like “steampunk” and “The Hunger Games” and “Vampires” and “first crushes,”

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prose

the dance studio girls

i am home for christmas break. my first stop is a real ballet class.

steps is a zoo.

its not like SAB or BAE. or the JKO School at ABT. steps is old school. really old school.

cast iron columns and beat-to-f*ck hardwood floors.

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prose

the dining hall moment

i hate my roommate. she’s too f*cking healthy. hate her. i hate to look at her. i hate her voice. she’s like “omg, did you see those pink uggs? aren’t they soooo hype?” uggggg. but, i need to be polite. so, we go to the dining hall. it’s modern and light and airy, but crowded, thronged with hundreds of first-year students. it’s like a food court in some suburban mega mall, not an ivy league school. they have all these glass troughs. some of them are cold and some of them have heat lamps. millions of calories, carbs, and fats.

i’m completely overwhelmed.

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prose

the swimtest

the swimming test freaks me out. i don’t want to put on a bathing suit and show myself in public up here.

most of these girls are built like my roommate. they aren’t “fat,” they’re “athletic.”

i don’t think they want to wear swimsuits, either.

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