Wednesday Morning

[cbpotts]

My bones are a barometer for deceit; they ache when I'm lying to myself. I feel it in my shoulders, my neck, my hips, my spine; my fingers are fire. I've learned by now there's only one cure. I have to hunt down what's not true, what's not right, what's useful instead of authentic, and get that sorted. Every I'm fine, every it's okay, lately every

Comments

[eqfe]

Good for you.

[liddle_oldman]

A searching moral inventory, as it were.

[wordweaverlynn]

You rock.