« I lie a lot. Little lies like, ‘No, I don’t even like that boy,’ or, ‘No mom, I’m not blogging, I’m doing homework.’ Little lies that make me feel a little bad. I have to lie about where and when and why and whose bowl is in the drawer in my room. It’s exhausting. I wish I could let the truth spill from my lips, pouring out like smoke when I fail at the french inhale, spreading around, not caring what everyone thinks. I’d like to burn my empathy and self consciousness. »