self-confessional.

there are certain things
which need not be thought,
by man.
by woman.
by you.
by me.

and yet,
these weigh heavily on our minds.

these things can’t be thrown.
they are sticky like sap.
they hurt.
like a sickness.
in my stomach i can feel the swaying and frothing.
unpleasant.

it’s vile.
if douglas adams, god resty his soul, were to have made a word,
i would use.
alas, i am, as of yet, unread.
if i should read, i will provide.

relief comes with talk.
however, how often too does distain
and self hatred/disgust.
it depends upon the person.
the persons to and from.
find the right person(s).

i may have found the right person(s).

and now, this too, is too much.

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