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  • There are things I am trying to understand about myself. I mean like how I'm not sweet. I'm not sugar candy. I'm salt, savoury. I don't taste like girl. I'm salted plantain chips. Little banana pastries fried in cumin.
    And I am sticks. I am big wooded sticks, bound and heavy so I can thud as I walk. I am the colour of my food when it matches what I'm wearing. Orange and pink today. Red leicester and beetroot humus. Pomegranate and carrot. The knitted scarf with no end that I have been wearing as a hood for two weeks straight, indoor and outdoor. Neon majolica.

    I was thinking today how you taste funny to me. Bad to me. But is it bad like sweetcorn bad or is it bad like coriander bad? And you do not match your food. Bread and bones I think you eat. Like a monster. And you are bashing and throwing the ball to the boys and pats on the back and too much noise.
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