They thought death was worth it, but I
Have a self to recover, a Queen
Is she dead, is she sleeping?
Where has she been, with her lion-red body, her wings of glass?
Now she is flying
More terrible than she ever was, red
Scar in the sky, red comet
Over the engine that killed her
from "Stings", by Sylvia Plath
These words weren't written for me or about me (OBVIOUSLY). Yet I carry them with me. Sometimes I wonder if that's silly. Excessive. Self-aggrandizing? No, I wouldn't go that far.
I carry them for comfort and empowerment. That was what they were written for, weren't they? So why not use them as such?
I am off all social media. I wouldn't call THIS social media, this is a one woman show. Literally. I don't even know how many people read this. It doesn't matter too much to me.
It's nice that some people like my writing, but that doesn't fill me up with more than like 1/5th a tank of gas.
I'm just so done.
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