Epiphanies only hit you AFTER you’ve been fucked over

Sometimes I have these types of ‘flashes’ of realisation and sometimes I hate those fucking moments ’cause they burst bubbles or whatever. Then, on the other end of the scale, sometimes those instances bring such pure joy and enlightenment. 
I get mad because it feels so good but I had to step in dog shit like, what? Six times? Before I even had the ability to see it’s silhouette let alone its stupid face. 

Oh yeah, that’s definitely something I do. 

I call things ‘dumb’ or ‘stupid’ when really I know full well they’re not. It’s just that sometimes I am and for some reason I feel like I have to project that onto all of the things. 

You’re an inanimate object?


you’re dumb now. 

You’re an emotion?

Not for me right now,

you’re stupid. 

And I guess if I were to sit down and process that entirely I’d come to the conclusion that it’s my child self attempting to preserve my adult self. I guess that’s the only way it knows how. 
My adult self is nurturing and loves children so it’s like “awwwh thank you, sweetie” while the noose of depression let’s out a textured sigh as it slips through itself and around my neck. 

“Isn’t this book wonderful?”

Help her to turn her back to me while the pressure mounts my throat. I’m losing colour quickly, oxygen feels like yesterday’s luxury when…. 

one of those realisations jumps into frame. 

So, now I guess I’ve stepped in dog shit about sixty thousand times AND felt the rough love of a veteran rope whispering its sweet nothings through the knot of my hair into the knot of my brain. What I’m trying to work out next is how to encourage the reality before I’ve fallen over. Otherwise, I guess, I could make grazed knees Springs new fashion trend. 

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