Everything seemed too curated - insignificant things - things outside my sphere - soulless, popular, constructed. I was irritated by the too perfect, the flawlessness.
What do I care?
For a moment I raged, complained, thought myself superior to the superficial
And then I caught myself…
It’s a mirror, it’s projection, it’s ego:
It’s the anxiety spiral born out of attempts to control the chaos, to distance myself from the messiness
To pretend - my own moral tyranny trap.
Fuck, how do I always end up back in the game - lost?! Try too hard and the scales tip. When did I plug all these holes? Construct this armour, store away the pain till it was seeping out crevices? I didn’t have enough moisture to cry out the mess despite all the tears.
Caught on a hamster wheel trying to be… what? Cultivated? Neat? Together? Too good to be true?
But in seeing the curated and the absence of human soul…
I realised I need to be messy, beautifully undone,
and I have the perfect place for that…
Gag in mouth, water overflowing, helpless, useless, limp, incapable, a complete mess, an insignificant thing.
My ego cut loose, so it’s time to let go and get messy. How could I forget, you dirt-loving whore?! ✨🌻