Shall I compare you to Musical.ly stars?

Your profile says "i only live once, girl".

Because haters gonna hate even us,

Like, summer's expiration date's over.

I lost my sunglasses, it burns real hot,

Even my tan is not fake now; you ask

Where's my beach body in such trying times,

Well I had a cupcake or two (or twelve);

But look at you, having those curves just fine,

Not skinny, losing no pounds, just 'follow's,

Because you don't need filters for likes,

Created wonderful as are, God knows.

   So long your mirror is not distorted,

   So long you break those ceilings, you're OK.

Trevor Queens graduates from Brown. Just like his father, he is a psychologist and can't wait to put all that he learned into practice. To his surprise, the acclaimed Nerz Institution offers him a position. When he leaves for New Caledonia, he is astonished by the beauty of the clinic; his future workplace. He settles into his study, and begins working as the psychologist of the nurses working in the facility. After a few months, he is familiar with everyone, except the treated patients, because he never sees any. Every nurse seems reluctant to answer his questions regarding the maintenance, while they are eager to share every detail about their life. Trevor can hardly disguise his qualm. Adelaine, the Chief Nurse offers him a 2-week recess as their patient.

Trevor abides and makes two discoveries: how The Nerz Institution provides such successful research and why they employed him.

He was the only missing piece.

The only missing specimen in Adelaine's Zoo of Schizophrenia. There is no way back.

Can he escape? Is he able to convince the other inhabitants to stand with him?

But most importantly, should they leave at all? Is the Zoo a prison, or a shelter?

Everyone seemed to gather around the table: Terry and the twins from Michigan, Uncle Gary, who lost his testicles in "unforeseen circumstances", Aunt Marge, who was not related to anyone at all, but came anyway. (She was living across Shaun in Springfield, and no one protested to her presence, because she always brought brownies. Brownies.) Regardless of leaving Terry 3 years ago, Janice came, bringing his boyfriend, Zeke, who was a yoga life coach, of course.

"I can't believe how you still don't know I'm lactose intolerant, Sheryl." Janice kicked off the conversation.

"Lactose may affect her diet, Sheryl." Zeke added. Sheryl, who was bringing the food to the table regretted having married her husband and getting to know his side of the family. She only said, "Unfortunately we're out of sympathy. And lactose-free sympathy, too."

The gasping Janice was interrupted by the high-pitch voice of Uncle Gary.

"Have I told you how I lost my virginity?!" he squeaked. "No one gives a damn about how you lost your virginity, Uncle Gary, because you already told us while ruining Sammy's 8th birthday party!" said Janice. "Well if you don't wanna hear..." and he started his own monolog. "Well, those kids did not want to hear!" Janice replied. "It's okay darling. Remember, it's anger, that keeps you from unlocking your full potential." Zeke said, trying to calm her, and basically upsetting everyone else by just opening his mouth. Terry contained his pity and anger up until now. "Are you really gonna marry this dumbass, Janice?"

"Ooh, you said a swear! Mommy, you were right!" exclaimed Amanda, Sheryl's daughter.

"Turkeeey!" Sheryl shouted, managing to avoid confrontation with Terry, and moved Amanda to the other end of the table, because Uncle Gary started to have a one-on-one discussion with her about his missing testicles. Regardless, he turned to Aunt Marge and continued. "And, you see, when I started to push the cart, I did not notice my fly was open..."

After a few minutes, Aunt Marge said she had to leave because her sister just got ill. (She apologized and left, and later never appeared on any family occasion.)

"I thought her sister died years ago..." said Shaun. "Your body may die, but your soul depends on your lifestyle. Isn't that right honey?" Zeke commented while hugging Janice and doing who knows what under the table, because she dropped her fork. "Is this real? Where the hell can you find such an idiot, Janice?" Terry put down his fork but kept his knife in his hand. "Shut up, Terry, he has a respectable job. And, Sheryl, mind if I ask you where the flavor is in this gravy?"

"That's actually ketchup." Sheryl said. "And Sammy darling will you stop following the tips of Uncle Gary on how to play with the cranberry sauce? It is not only disturbing but I'm sure he has no idea how old you are."

(to be continued)

A mother drowned her sons this Tuesday,

The daily magazine reported.

In the blaze, the hurtful summer haze,

Cold water was relief and madness.

A mother drowned her sons, fifteen months

Babies, they weren't fed gold for lunch.

Willow branches shamelessly shut the

Dreaming infants' eyes, when it was night.

A mother drowned her sons, and the killed

Herself too: the town had three to mourn.

A naked night was burdened by the

Heavy crying of the Missouri.

Flashing neons mirror pain in street puddles. 

Viper-like eyes flash and smile to prey.

Alcohol can be a sight aid and a bad advisor.

Silk and leather have true connotations.

It's easy to undo something meant to be undone.

A single bed can hold up to two people.

Simple discoveries are easy to make

In the middle of a night.

I saw the words unsaid, I knew

You truly meant them, 

Too.

I saw the silence absorbed by

The golden embrace:

You.

I saw your suitcases, the two

Already packed, all

Full.

I saw you packed teardrops as well,

Some were mine, some were

Yours.

And I made no effort, nothing

To hold, hold onto

You.

We all read the same.

Colored letters, blank pages.

We all hear the same.

Splendid sounds, eerie silence.

We all eat the same.

Sweet apricots, sour knife.

We all mean the same.

Helpless exclamation marks.

We all bleed the same.

Burgundy puddles we are.

I love my tinted moisturizer; 

it hides my acne scars that I got when I was 12 - I scratched too hard at my stress spots. 

I love my concealer;

it hides my dreadfully dark bags under my eyes - I suffer from insomnia and night terrors.

I love my contour palette;

it hides the fat on my cheek and neck after a straight year of binging and purging.

I love my eyebrow pencil; 

it hides the bald spots in my eyebrows after getting scratched by my mother when I was 9.

I love my eyeshadows;

they create a crease in my eyelid that disappeared after restless nights of crying.

I love my mascara;

it detracts from my impossibly red eyes.

I love my lipstick;

it hides the rawness of my lips after they have been bitten into oblivion.

I love makeup; it hides my true face.

My motivation is my desire to find motivation

To live a life of purpose I just don't know the purpose

Yet.

With half formed ideologies

and half formed children

I hope to one day

Hope to achieve something one day.

and when I achieve the goal of locating the goal posts

once I've found my strife I intend to strive.

Hard.

For... Whatever that may end up being.