My period turns me into a velociraptor.

I left the dining commons an hour ago and here I am, downing a bag of Smartfood popcorn like a month-long famine just drew to an end. Books are strewn everywhere, almost like I’m studying; almost like you think I’m studying for that exam we have together, but I’m a velociraptor, a fucking deceptive monster, blogging the words I’d never have the confidence to say to you like those five minutes ago when you passed me in the halls and every phrase the universe could have ever created just flew into my head but all that could escape my lips (i’d glossed them for you, did you notice? no? didn’t think so…) was a squeaky, meager, “sup”?
tiny words for a tiny-armed monster, I do nothing about my problems but it’s justifiable because I’m female, and gushing out more blood than a war victim but if I wasn’t, my mom would be far beyond concerned. And thus, Smartfood is my answer to everything. Smartfood and weepy folk music and diet Coke after diet Coke; sandwiching the occasional philosophical exam review question in between, but how can that make sense when I’ve got all this?
I hate romance. I despise the one-way route of “romance” I live where I can’t display any form of emotion or affection and he’ll never, ever know my secret. I’m emotionless though. A fucking emotionless velocioraptor.

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