Stand

You changed your deodorant; and I changed my hair, again.

I don't have to mourn for these changes.

Fighting impotence I clung to my beliefs, and the squishy comfort of those headphones which, in enveloping my ears, made me feel safe. But that wasn't enough. Something snapped. Something felt wrong. Sacrificing my nails, I chewed until I could feel repentant, but absolution wouldn't come so simply.

Three mochas down and I finally see where I'm going, after days of hazy unease. The miasma hovering over my life is thinning, and I feel the pressure lift.

Finally, clarity through sating an addiction.

Creation is constant, and if I must I will stand against the torrent of emotions I'm faced with; I'm strong enough for that.