smooth legs = hot shit

the motto of my middle school years.

walking home with that soft touch box of clattering plastic strips in hand. already making my skin shudder.

it was safe pain, i didn’t need to feel guilty about how mercilessly i ripped them off. counting the hair follicles by their pinheads & watching blood form spheres in their empty cavities.

hours of sticky fingers, wax that only surrendered to the tiny blue bottle of after oil magic. making fingers rub effortlessly yet again.

today i took one look at that box tucked deep on the fourth Walgreens shelf & left.

(5/28/20)