My Writing Habit

every day, I write a thousand words:
some days joyously, but most like the worst

hour of my life, screaming with paranoia manifested
by gaslit hands who once held me in love,

so that I’m simultaneously healed
by the act of wordsmithing

and stripped down, bone-down,
sifting through my “bad” memory

to the inner golden lion
I buried beneath

decade-long depression
and anxiety so deep,

truth could never be
bullied out of me.

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