God I wish I was a graphic designer. Wish I was Angel Chen’s face. Wish I could speak European, bear a sleek tattoo. Wish I had an effortless Twitter that made me seem smart, nice, and not neurotically dependent on validation. Wish all my underwear was sexy, and terribly comfortable. Wish I could hit those high notes and low notes. Wish I had a male specimen that could reciprocate perfectly my need for a specific type of physical affection that requires an emotional understanding built on months of a whirlwind trust. Wish the cafeteria food was less salty and more Chinese. Wish I didn’t inherit my mom’s face pores. Wish I could do with less clothes.

I can do with less clothes.