A coat of porcupine quills?
Or a shroud of razor wire?
Neither and both, I suppose.
It could be so, so much worse, but the chronic awkwardness I wear every day certainly feels to me as painful and cutting as both these over-exaggerations.
Most days I pretend it doesn’t bother me at all. Somedays the ill-fitted-ness of me is simply crushing.
Today is someday, I confess.
*sighs… straightens the collar of the quill coat, trying to look sharp and brave in all my imagined pokiness… smiles stubbornly*
This stupidity will pass, too; and tomorrow will be a better day.
Post-note: Mental illness sometimes tackles creativity to the ground and beats it to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.