The Kitchen Sink

Perfection, loneliness, and a tiny case of the "f*ck-its"

I stare into the mirror just over my kitchen sink. My face is broken out in acne but I kind of don’t mind. I never learned how to use face makeup, so I just go with it, red, puffy dots speckle my chin and above my lip and I wonder if it makes me look young, like a teenager. The kid at Trader Joes just flirted with me. I am wearing my Kendrick Lamar, Damn shirt. He said he’s team Kendrick too.

I bought all healthy food at the store, but that’s boring, so deep in the back of a cupboard, I unearth a canister of hot chocolate powder. I yank it out, pop the lid and grab a spoon, knowing this will only create more craters. I don’t mind my pimples at the grocery stores and it doesn’t really matter cause I’m not really dating right now, cause men suck. But is it the men? Or is it me, feeling kind of bad and down on myself and wanting to hide. I’m like, bloated and broke. Much of my self worth and value is tied up in being perceived as if I always have it all together, all the time, all on my o…