Nervous Stick

Well hey there my chunky newborn babes. I’m postin again and there ain’t nothing no one can do about it, and there aint no one who wants to do nothing about it cos you all been real nice about my posts and I am real grateful.

Here another one and it makes me real nervous to talk about this biz, but I also get real nervous if I see a particular pattern of seeds in bird shit on the ground so no news there. Hope you enjoy or feel something or at least don’t say mean things about me on the internetz.

S xx

 

Old Battle Wound

 

And here it comes again. A shot to the nerves between my shoulder blades. My fists clench, and the words spill from my mouth.

“I wanna die.”

The pang recurs daily, almost hourly. Even though that battle is long since won. Even though there are years between me and that desire. Just a pang and a dark memory from a time before the light.

It was so natural for me to say, in time thankfully long past, and the fight to where I am was bitter and long. These old wounds don’t fully heal, and I’m not the warrior I once was.

By god I wish it would stop. I don’t need this reminder of times gone, of ghosts still too real. But wishes are nothing, and purpose remains. There isn’t a sea of joy to fall into at the end of this path, but more paths and paths beyond.

Ah, all this doom and gloom, hanging onto my legs like cobbler’s pegs on a peaceful walk through wild lands. What’s a little limp in my step when the air is fresh and new and full of opportunity?

I may scream and curse and carry these old wounds for the rest of my life, but I will die a man that conquered this. A man that lived and found a life whole and filled with good.

Just as I may remember and wince with pain refreshed, I will look back and smile at the memories I fought for and won.

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