Autonomous and roomie bae were chipper.

I kept my head down and DJ-ed.

Took extended IG stories.

When the convo flagged / veered woke towards the patriarchy and how women, in America, in 2018, were held down, I felt a rage bubbling.

A rage I knew was sus but nonetheless couldn’t suppress.

How tf was I privileged.

I couldn’t do shit.

Not only that, no one allowed me to show/admit I couldn’t.

Not men nor—if not especially not—women.

We had a fkng job to do; so, even though I couldn’t, I was gonna do it.

Not to mention, every woman I knew—all my baes, both sisters, ma—had their shit together.

Effortlessly.

Had no issues integrating themselves economically/socially.

And even if they couldn’t or didn’t want to, they could always nanny.

Everyone needed moms; every woman could get paid to be a temporary mom.

Women didn’t need to cross the street, when walking behind a woman or weak man, to show they weren’t predatory.

Or keep their eyes down when traversing protected spaces like college campuses or playgrounds, so as to not ruin people’s days.

Just last week I’d gotten harassed by a security guard for pulling up on my bike to the Penn dorm after ‘curfew’ with food in tow.

Who are you you can’t be here tf outta here—how it felt to me, anyhow.

Like Bro—I’m doing literally my job.

The only job I can do.

The one way I’m able to feel of use.

I was only two beers deep but had the tolerance of a virgin drinker.

Felt belligerent.

OK anyways, here’s a story I wrote, gonna read it now, I cut in.

It was 500 words and was basically a transcription of a rant I went on to a friend a while back about how writing was different now, everyone could do it, trying to write in a way that established an elevated stance above readers and other writers was fuckshit.

A fuckboy move.

Stop tryna be fancy; share some shit.

It was lowkey shots at E.

His poems were complicated.

Didn’t realize it was till after I read it.

After I read it, roomie bae was impartial.

Autonomous bae said it felt unnecessarily literary/complicated.

E said he fucked with it.

I offered E my bed, but he chose to crash in my van out back.

We had an early start the next morning.

E had a triggering relationship with my van.

Two Christmases ago—right after I followed ex bae out east, right before she became ex—we—E, big and lil sis, and the ma—linked at big sis’s spot upstate.

A month after I’d driven out from Cali.

After living outta my van the previous season doing weed work in Humboldt.