Breathing becomes laboured when I'm not sure if I want to hold something in, or let it out. Expressing my disappointment at the events that appear to be in an incessant loop feels like an indulgence in futility. I've expressed such disappointment before, yet, here we are. Staring each other in the face again. The…
My inclination to write within the context of a universal experience feels insincere and superficial at times. To want to write at all feels like a self indulgent rant or feathering of my own cap. I've abandoned more manuscripts and drafts of old manuscripts these past few weeks than I have all my life. The…
Restless souls writeAnxious souls readComplacent souls pay no heedAnd then there's me. Fitting uncomfortably in each space, while not fitting in at all. There's a blessing in being anomalous. It spares us the slavery of living by rules. But blessings don't occur without burdens, and the burden of being anomalous is the restlessness that it…
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