So badly do I want to post something with a grime to it because it’s coming straight from Snapchat. Perhaps a selfie with oily camera lens syndrome. Perhaps because you had just finished eating a sandwich for lunch. Perhaps your friend did something funny and you hastily whip out your 6s. Perhaps you want to commemorate it with a piccy on the grammy.
White converse, Air Force ones. Tommy Hilfiger light wash jeans. They are unflattering and give you a jenis. They are also cuffed twice at the ankle. Everyone loves vegetable sushi rolls, everyone loves to post pictures of movies on their macbook. Weed back when it was weed and not giving us psychosis. Sideboob community is huge. Ctrl just came out. iPhones are shiny and so tiny that your fingers look fat in mirror selfies. You cannot archive. You’ve gotta stick to it… your gut, I mean. Only square crops allowed. Your photo has to fit that 4x4. Must look good on the feed. Never too many images of yourself. Picture of a ladybug in the grass? Necessity. Show us your complexities... Sigh.
I wish I was strong enough to negate the discontented followers who don’t understand my grainy selfie is twenty-eighteen, twenty-four-seven propaganda. I wish I was strong enough to stand up for what I believe in.
