Dear Wigleaf, I want so much to say the right thing. I want to say with clarity and appropriate tone that I am guilty, paralyzed, screaming at myself I better fucking get up and do something right fucking now because crying is not enough, no one is interested, do you hear me, no one gives a shit. I want to say it in a single perfect image with perfect compassion, compassion even for me, but the story of America is not the story of my garden variety—shut the fuck up, you fucking bitch. I want to say. I want so much to say. Sorry, C - - -
Read Colleen's story.
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