Stare into my whimsy, and know I have not avowed anyone.
I look towards happiness, and even peace in times of peril.
I keep breaking shit, but I’ve been on a bit of a lucky streak. It reminds me of when I was younger and riding high. Mania or Ambition, I still don’t know the contradiction.
However, I wish for happier times and it seems I have everyone’s admiration to recommendation. I needed the healthier option. I took the rest. I ate the porridge. I went silent. I was doomed. Opened up the floodgates, only to rest for awhile even more.
Now I’m torn. Torn between a rock and a hard place and I’m choosing petrified wood for reason. An archeological display of digging up old bones and applying to jobs. Counting on a place that served me well and tore me apart without the medication.
Is that what people with cancer feel like once it’s gone? Maybe the seizures could creep up again and I’ll be torn between writing-working and working-working again; but that’s okay. I have friends of grander time and I just want to start small again. Give me 20 hours and maybe I’ll be inspired to write more. Please, I hope so.
Reality misconception for my readers, but I want to acknowledge how much this site has given me freedom to speak, to be crazy, to be content, to hold myself in peace, and raise myself high between my sorrows. Anger, depression, and anxiety holding myself to higher hopes. Please, I hope so. Let that be my mantra. I want to ask now. Closed mouths don’t get fed and I’m tired of being on the short stick to be nice.
Let it be wild. I’m tired of timid + tame.
It’s overrated.
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