Pulp & Shrouds

stockvault-barbed-wood103831A 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.

Until tomorrow…


Post-note: Mental illness sometimes tackles creativity to the ground and beats it to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.


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