Every time I’ve told someone I’ve seen a shooting star, I’ve been lying.

Written last April

I wake up every day and I feel guilty. I carry the guilt in my purse on the way to the drug store. Not the pharmacy, but the store me and my friends buy pre-rolls at. I also carry cash and chapstick and sometimes a vape, if I’m going through a rough patch. Occasionally, I have a rolled up script in there and ALL the time I have dried orange peels. I hope to one day carry a clean purse, one with slim to none stains, free of crumpled up tissues and gum stuck to the wrappers. Once, I put a piece of gum straight from my mouth to my jacket pocket because I wasn’t feeling brave enough to swallow it. I hope to own a purse that is empty, with no orange peels or dab pens. One that knows the top of my shoulder, and only the top of my shoulder, not having to share it with the weight I carry. I would like my brown purse, with cold thread embroidered in it to hang by my chest & be the only thing my arms know how to hold.