xenia tarbow | six | fin | cb

{ x e n i a
we don't feel like
outsiders at all }

We were supposed to conform, my sister and I. Brush my dark hair, throw on a dress and smile at the world from the kitchen window. But I guess I'm just a fuck up, aren't I? We formed as a group: a band of misfits with not a single fuck to give. Sis tagged along, her chronically second-guessing soul in tow. We fought those who tested us, accepted those who accepted us. My hair remains unbrushed, and if I wear a dress it's because I look good in it. I view the world from the tops of mountains, my vision blurred and my heart hammering in my chest to remind me it is there and I am alive. A world where "normal" is good is a world I refuse to be a part of. A world where difference rules, that's where I thrive. Money, money, money, I spend mine on a good time, if you know what I mean. A hit breathed in and suddenly I can fly.

I am part of a machine. Instead of breaking, we grow stronger. We fight for ourselves, and for others like us. We fight for the right to be who we are with no sorrow.

I was supposed to accept the life given to me, but I forged my own path.

And I love what I have found.