these are my feelings, they don't exist to be pretty: i never write to be pretty. i write my feelings. beneath it all, i get scared of sharing feelings, because you are not allowed to feel so intensely, without being judged: that people don't understand how you could derive so much from so little? so, yes, like the scared kids spilling elipsises——the black and red and violent——this is just another slow moment, cold moment, clean moment, quiet moment. this is another crow catching in my breath.

though i don't think i want you back, i don't ever let you go. so i struggle with my strongest belief: that everyone deserves happiness. it's not all about that, but it's there, and so i will continue to write it. it couldn't be any other way. not till a yellow bird descends.

just, the endless cycle of growth crushed underfoot. too much duality, and belief for the good in that: i am learning——we have learned.

so it feels, my true feelings can't fill a page. they curdle, crawl back inwards, obeying alliteration, losing their limbs.