I learned to masturbate the summer after third grade.

Intercourse felt, often, like shoving a loofah into a Mason jar.

I am hot. I am hungry for a snack. But mostly, I am alone.

I was sure I had already broken my hymen in high school while crawling over a fence in Brooklyn in pursuit of a cat that didn’t want to be rescued.

I have the nagging sense that my true friends are waiting for me beyond college, unusual women whose ambitions are as big as their past transgressions, whose hair is piled high, dramatic like topiaries at Versailles, and who never, ever say 'too much information' when you mention a sex dream you had about your father.

My mother and I have a massive fight when I choose to wear a banana-printed belly shirt and pink leggings to the Vatican.

I am 20 years old and hate myself. My hair, my face, the curve of my stomach. The way my voice comes out wavering and my poems come out maudlin.

When I was nine, I wrote a vow of celibacy on a piece of paper and ate it.

They need to look at those parts of their society and maybe just not want to kill each other and get rid of somebody like Hitler.

I say go where the getting is good. I'm not going to find such marriage material at a club. I do dabble with, like, some businessmen that I do meet.

It would be really sexy to have George Clooney once. I think he is so sexy!

The word trill really REALLY bugs me! Like who made that up???

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