FIVE: Work by Marina Weisburg
I’ve imagined myself slamming my door and yelling “I hate you Mom, I’m dying my hair black.”
But I don’t hate my mom, and my hair is already black.
I never even slam doors because once, my sister slammed a mirrored door and it shattered on my dad.
The first time I saw my mom cry I was experimenting with my vocabulary like all other asshole middle schoolers.
I called her and said “Where you at dawg?”
I came home and she was crying and sitting on this completely impractical antique chair that I hate.
And she was crying and sweating and so sad because she thought I was calling her a dog.
The first time I saw my dad cry we were watching To Kill a Mockingbird.
We looked at each other at the same second and I saw that his eyes were all wet.
He was embarrassed and I felt like a daughter.
The first time my boyfriend saw me cry, he told me it made him feel closer to me.
That’s when I started really fucking hating him.
But I’m always tearing. I have a tear duct problem or something, or maybe it’s just how my face works. And I’m always wiping my face because tears are always just falling out of my eyes and I can’t even help it and people constantly ask me if I’m ok. And whenever someone asks me if I’m ok, I actually feel like I’m gonna cry.
my fantasy, baby
Harry Styles telling me to come back to bed
Telling someone at a water cooler that I’m slammed with work, rolling my eyes way back
Running into acquaintances really gracefully