grace

cold in the best case scenario.

sparking with life, wet,

imperfectly symmetrical, by design

gleaning in the sun (or moon)(or stars).

seeds ploughed by a greater being.

what a vulnerable thing. to bare your soul to someone else. i don't think i could do it again.

or could i?

had this thought mid-way through typing a nihilistic paragraph, but i suppose i was only thinking about it romantically. i bare my soul every day to every i meet. in little ways. even putting up a front, in a way, is a projection of myself. a more insecure, nasty self, but still.

i am a mad woman who needs to spill her guts. i need to leave this town forever. i have a grand purpose in life that is beautiful and flourishing. i am more than what i am to men; more than what i am to peers in general. i need freedom. love is out of reach and cumbersome, compromising, i detest it in a way, but its hard to watch in the face of others with feeling another type of detest.

i want to be great, or i want to be nothing at all.