01/04/22

I’m a bit at a loss as to what to say.

Shame feels like I ought to explain my absence.

Doubt feels like no one noticed, and feels like I don’t deserve to be.

Guilt feels like I’m a failure to myself.

Fear feels like I’m going to be.

Well, that’s all of their problems, because I feel like I’m not a failure, I’m not an idiot, and I’m definitely not doomed to a miserable pit of clutching regret and anxious roots.
I’m doomed to a long and happy life.
I’m doomed to bring the best I can in all I do.
I’m doomed to love, and love alike.
I’m doomed to a happy ending.

Oh shit I feel doomed.
I feel doomed for being me, and the alternative it to not be.
I’m going to live my life, not try to perfectly plan it.
As far as being doomed? Motherfucker, I amn’t.

Here’s to more of my words let free from the cage I keep them in.
Here’s to you, for catching and admiring them before letting them go again.