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you know what they say

“one door closes, and another door opens.” “trust the process.” yada yada yada. i’m so sick of people telling me to look on the bright side. that my next opportunity’s around the corner. that soon enough, i’ll look back on these as the good ol’ days. yes, no, maybe so. right now, there’s a giant pot of rage churning away on my stove. if hope’s the thing with feathers, by all means, clip my wings. i want to throttle hope, squeeze the life out of her beautiful ivory neck. here, now: the urge to park myself underground, where there’s no chance of being found. how i long to write from a future beyond these lakes of hurt.


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