The Horror of Me

It doesn’t matter how hard I have tried

how many hours I spend

refining my talents, working on my projects, living the dream.

Missed buses, missed connections, I have never flown above it all

Until I put words on a page.

My stories are marks I have left on the world

 they are bruises that will never heal

screams that will never end

cries that begin at dusk and creep like fog along the ground

and

I am very good with that one small thing I can do.

I am

Practiced.

 

Daily Addictions Prompt: Practice

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