a/n: this is literally how male authors write about girls that are not like the other girls
as sunlight made its way to her milky olive smoothie skin, she woke up and finally got out of her bean bag "mattresses are overrated" she thought. she made her way to the bathroom and washed her body in hand sanitizer and chewed mint gum to make her breath fresh. she didn't really like to over-groom herself like other people usually do. she put her hair up in a messy cinnamon bun like shape and wore her signature outfit— mismatched socks, dirty converse all stars, stinky jeans she hadn't washed in a week, a tank top from when she was a kid and her dead dad's red flannel. she then grabbed her glasses which she didn't need but still wore bc she didn't want anyone looking at her bright ocean turquoise blueberry eyes. her bountiful bosoms bounced up and down as she ran down the stairs. she grabbed a slice of moldy bread and made toast out of it and ran out the door as fast as she could because was late for film school.
she's not like the other girls.
YOU ARE READING
blood oranges 🍊
Random𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 ° free form ° no rules ° literally whatever pops up from my brain ° just me being qUiRkY ° grab a cup of coffee or tea and enjoy the mediocre writing and pecu...
