"Clean."
I’m 7 years old. Its second grade. I try to run from the girls who scream “clean freak” at me on the playground, but their voices forever echo in my head. Thats not something you can run away from.
I try to tell them about the itching in my fingers and the dirtiness I feel in my hands when my desk isn’t wiped clean everyday. But I’m only a child, and so are they, and I cannot fathom these feelings into words. I’m sorry.









