d o. i t. f o r. t h e. a e s t h e t i c



I stare at the piece of paper in front of me

 'I need to write about my identity,' I read, 'what is that? Do all beings have one?' I mutter to myself, now lost in the utterly terrible connotations the ugly word 'identity' brings.

I grimace thoughtfully, 'could it mean what Harry Potter house I belong in? Or, pray tell, what my favorite colour is?'

I scribble the words 'slytherin' and 'pastel green' down. 

Suddenly frustrated, I take the innocent page in front of me and crumple it.

'I would be such an amazing writer if only I could just,' I clench my tiny fists, 'write.'