I’m a monster of a woman and I seek to devour my destiny. I seek not to identify with what has once brought me suffering.

Pardon the dramatics, but what if I became that truly uncanny thing, self-possessed? My likes and dislikes are not in tandem or opposed to anything. Polished or grotesque refreshingly selfish, self-contained, encompassing. With each breath I take place. I’ve never cared for myself so much, and that is why I’m alone. There are so many things I could internalize but why take anything personally?

Cry about it definitely- because that’s important but let it simmer in me, no. In all actuality- nothing has that power anymore to sway me from feeling rooted in myself. Life is entirely too open and too short to implode and indulge in senseless suffering.

I say this as if I’m inventing slice bread as if I’m defining self-respect and regard but in some respects, I am. It must be made from one's self- it must be developed , tended to , and understood by one's internal communion.