Pencils. Books. Looks.

I am afraid of awkward silences. I'm afraid of my grandparents neighbors. I'm afraid of co-workers tripping. I'm afraid of my boss yelling at me. Not because I'm scared of her, but I'm scared she will spit on me. I'm afraid of girls with long leg hair. I'm afraid of coffee. And hot chocolate. And soup. Any burning hot liquid. Except hot tubs. I love hot tubs. I'm afraid of floating plastic ducks. I'm afraid of untied shoe laces. I'm afraid of Jane Austin stories. I'm afraid of bight light. But I'm also afraid of darkness. I'm afraid of pencils. And books. And looks. And I'm afraid of people that smell bad. And I'm afraid of being mad. I'm afraid of summer mornings. I'm afraid of musicals. I'm afraid of you. Yeah you. I'm afraid of screaming. I'm afraid of white boys playing funky music. I'm atraid of you smiling back at me with those lying eyes.