Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash
On a gloomy, muddy Saturday in March, I killed my insecurities
because they reminded me of false, idyllic authority
and, like swollen rainclouds, the hold they had over me was released.
And instead of continuing to feed my misguided heart to the beast
I Became, blossomed like a lotus, and let my doubts fade into obscurity.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
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