A Letter To My Self Contempt.

Dear big, scary book.

I implore you to stop intimidating me and crawl out from underneath the covers

and do something useful for a change.

Make something of yourself.

Feed the dog.

Water the plants.

Grow old gracefully.

I implore you to cease the comparisons,

the stop-start-beat-heart attacks

and simply get on with the business of being…

you big ugly cunt.

Cheers. x.

“I have tried, in my way, to be free…” – Bird On A Wire.

Oh, and I’m going to this tomorrow evening if anyone else cares to join me:




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