We are always in a state of becoming, of learning to love and accept the messy middle — which is to say ‘life’ as a rule. Because who truly ever knows precisely when the “messy middle” is (Fuck, what an awful, presumptuous phrase) while it’s all happening?
Goddamn.
Slowly.
I am slowly finding my way back.
To the creative comfort of free-writing,
and honoring the voice that wishes only to speak.
Slowly.
I am slowly reclaiming my title.
As the only one capable of answering the call of the Siren,
forever perched, poised, and choosing the electric violence . . .
where the waves buckle under the pressure
and surrender with white flags at her craggy feet.
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