Plastic

“I like to eat messy. But only when I’m alone. It’s all about the image that a person has to worry about, isn’t it? No? Maybe. Holding the spoon by it’s edge, eating from the container, spilling it everywhere, letting the mouth be just a little bit open, just enough to let that sound come out loud. That shameful, manner-less sound. I feel my own little evil emerging from within, waiting to be out from the hidden corners, submerged almost forever by the ‘Good Girl’. The girl who was always taught to be graceful, to be respectful, to have manners. Table manners. I’m sorry. Neither is there a table, nor do I want manners to enlighten me with their presence. I’m eating on the bed and I’m eating messy. But I’d never do it out loud, in front of people, would I? That’s me with a plastic cover on top. Anything without a cover gets rotten and wet and spoiled in the rain. And this rain just never seems to end. Therefore the plastic is always on. But sometimes, when the clouds take a breathing break, and when I’m safe in the shelter, that’s when the plastic comes out.
I like to eat messy. But only when I’m alone.” 

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