In the business of psychological self-harm

I feel the studded iron ball of a flail growing heavy inside of me
a pregnancy of sorts
It was conceived of doubt in January
only to fatten as it guzzled on all my insecurities
I know a bit about conception
I know a bit about gestation
I dread the nine month wait to birth this venomous weight
Perhaps the tetravalent emotion
won’t take quite so long to mature
and when the migraine reaches its peak
I find the carbon in my gut
has become a diamond
All my diffidence compacts and
I see the beauty of myself
for myself

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