Jelly Beans and Coke

Sitting inside a pale blue car, watching the California dirty freeways twirl while the backyards of personal dumpsters are visible. Walking down concrete hallways painted a neutral brown, smashing into excess fat, teased hair, and bitter eye balls. Crashing into hard blue chairs that have signified my butt shape for the past 7 months. Speaking to people I see everyday, talk to everyday, and have known for half of my childish life. Driving in the mornings to be stressed and assumed the worst by a 50 year old mother who cannot spell JOB on an application. Waking to the hottest water known to man while it trickles down my back and washes away all my dignity. All my bliss. Preparing me to be hurt for the day to come where I will walk into a classroom filled with opinionated over achievers. And I'm the highest.
Walk past every single person I could attempt a friendship with but have not. My eyhes stay attached to my shoes, and I picture myself kneeling forward having people think as If I'm looking at my body. I don't like to see myself naked. Sometimes I do, when I barely eat and I know my hip bones are sticking out like the sharp edges of a knife. I love to rub my finger on them, thinking that if I rub too slow that they will eventually slither across my skin and trickle out droplets of blood.
A GPA is no longer something to look at, it's become a future. Every single aspect of my personality is ridden into that tiny little 3 digit bar code on my head. Or on a piece of paper. College looks like a milestone. It's far away and my hands claw into this foggy set back as far as the woods. I feel sick. I hate the word love. I want to become a writer, but a writer is what I never shall become. I want to melt into a puddle of tears, learn to fly with a bird's left wing, kiss angel's curls, and see myself in the future. I'm hazed. I can't find who I am, because I lost myself to social suburbia.
The only thing I live for now are jelly beans and diet coke. And that only goes so far.