I think my tolerance is wavering. I feel little trapped… My desire to leave toxicity is overwhelming, my capability to continue to breathe in this smog, when I feel suffocated and buried behind my true self and who I want to be, who I need to be, for me to feel valid here, understood and heard. The tips of my toes are callused from walking on them for all these minuscule thieves of time I once possessed . The tongue which rest in my mouth has such carvings of my teeth in them that even if I were to speak it may just come out in mumbled screams of frustration. Boredom rest in my bones like a familiar friend, where any excitement or enhancement to my day feels foreign, like a disease my body tries to ward off. Bitter recipes make themselves the only option available for my nourishment. What does it feel like to savor in sweetness during the day? I have a hint but it only comes around and the ending and then it stirs all over again. I don’t belong here.

Confessions from my desk.

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