Expressions of Truth

An account of events in September

I had hardly taken the book out the bag when I realised from signals given that my battle was lost in an instant; my spoken word forced into a category in their head which had shaped long ago.
Gently, I receive a puzzled look and an excuse, and walk out the door.

I look at my baby on the table in a cafe now, with doors wide open to let the late summer air in, and just like with little humans, you cannot show the pages your weakness. We literary parents would choose a death by conviction rather than the dignified betrayal.

It may not be all love’s labour lost, certainly got rebuffed by the places I had hoped for (never bet on a horse that doesn’t limp!)

Gladly one can’t walk away from who you are and thus is equally stuck with all expressions of truth.

And even if only a black and white Jack Russel terrier followed me on Instagram, I could claim at least something breathing is interested.

Failure always gives you a headache at first, then becomes a chronic condition absolved by all nerves; all warning signs vanish.


Perhaps one day I’ll accept that
existence is all we need for happiness,
in my youth -now- I yet want to learn what it means to push
existence beyond a single mind.

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