Micalea Smeltzer

Pokehontas.

Quill Smith

Edgar Allen Poke.

Winston Churchquill.

Quillie Nelson.

And my hard-on is successfully gone.

the kind of girl who can hold her own, who doesn’t take bullshit from anyone, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be hurt, and I have a feeling she’s got her demons just like I have mine.

“If you trust your gut so much, then why don’t you trust it to find me again? Then I’ll tell you my name.”

We should stop,” he says, but he keeps kissing me.

“No.” I

Drop the rake, grab your shit, and leave.”
“What?” Donovan’s smile falters. “I’m just joking boss. You know me, I—” His eyes dart from me to Thayer, as if only just now realizing what kind of hole he’s dug for himself.
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” The other men back away from Donovan, grabbing their donuts and pretending not to pay attention to what’s going down. “You’re fired, Donovan. Get off my site.”
“Boss,” Donovan’s face falls this time, “I was just kidding around. She knows I was joking. I—”
Thayer holds up a hand. “She has a name. You didn’t bother to ask, did you? Take your misogynistic ass to your car and leave. I mean it.”

“society never wants to accept that monsters are real—just weak women.”

I want to have the confidence of wildflowers—to never give up, to flourish, and thrive.”

I’ve always liked to watch other people—not in a Peeping Tom sort of way—and think about their lives, who they might love, what they might be worried about. So many people, so many intersecting lives, and yet we all pass by without a thought for each other.

I like being alone, crave it. When I’m alone I don’t have to fake anything, paste a smile on my face if I don’t feel like it or participate in conversation when I’d rather be silent.

Cats. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.