I am reforged in a tiny whirlwind of cherub down and petrichor. I stand still in an abandoned alcove of self-education, and taste shaded sunlight.
The cottonweed is a fitting placebo and analogy for temperance. I razor away imperfections in orders of tiny magnitude.
I used to be ashamed of my scars. Embarrassed by their plain idiocy.
Now they are a living symbol of self-acceptance.
I am comfortable in the brittle calcification of my own bones. I craft myself through the whisper of hours-over-months.
I regret my pursuit of mastery took the murder of worries.
10:33 p.m. - 2014-07-22
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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