Heartburn

I got so fucking sick of me.

I got sick of writing consumable paragraphs, reducing moments and thoughts and ideas and stories and pain and joy to 2,200 characters. The people that surrounded me, they did so because I divvied myself up onto skewers - making myself smaller, into bite size pieces -  so they carried me around like a fuckin’ finger snack at a party where we’re all a dish.

We’re all party favors on a filter platter.

…..so full and fucking starving at the same time.

The audacity of my anger to even exist.

“It is because we’re all imposters that we endure each other.”

-Emil Cioran