not really a poem

random thoughts throughout the night.

I lived under a facade of my own making

lived there my whole life.

Through white-knuckled willpower, I had, for the most part, fashioned a world where the incongruous coexisted and life “worked.”

Until it didn’t.
I so completely relate to this.

And this is enough.

Today I live and stand in my own story

validated by the air I breathe.

See “The Messenger Project” for some context on this entry

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