Your love of cute things will likely be your undoing. Stop fermenting all day in this gross shrine to fantastic cuteness plucked out of algorithmic reality. When calculated, your curation is your social capital. You're still cute. Just pick and choose and try again. It never hurts quite as good to perform any of your other qualities.
You’ve tried to forsake it, only to find yourself inauthentic, trying to piece together the right balance of nondescript yet intentional to move through life watched from afar but unharassed. Indecision: Are you too paranoid to ever pass? Do you even want to? Wouldn’t it be better not to be looked at at all? The more you get through the day, the week, the bathroom break, you find yourself regressing: sixteen wondering if hell really is other people again. The grossest Grindr messages you’ve ever received bubble up as hypervigilant confirmations of what everyone around you must be thinking all the time. You were taught it as a kid: your nature-or-nurture penchant for cuteness makes you a deserving target…
Mirrors soothe: “Ignore old taboos and place me directly in front of your bed. Fall into a spirit realm and play dress up with all the other cuter or futcher versions of you that could have been. Then maybe you’ll have the courage/foolishness/impulsiveness to spend all your time in other people’s bedrooms instead. You can do it again."
Oh so gross. Clunky machine running on indulgent empty calories long enough to rewire you. You hate a blank wall. Your desire to fill up the ceiling too, if only you could reach it, spreads like a virus. Keep absolutely anything around! What if you'll miss it later? Of course you still long to fall into purely selfish obsessive adoration over and over again. Maybe you’re not so alienated after all.
Still, you stay in this messy room, surrounded by other, smaller yous. Home is a place to display all the things you try not to wear on your sleeve. What’s the point of buying all your life if you’re not going to show it to anyone? You start to hate the useless things you keep out of love. They kind of remind you of yourself.
