I feel my walls and my rigid rise as I try to pen words. My exacting voices within start to speak about the precise and the exhausting. I listen and realize we are all just tired, this drive for perfection has left us shriveled-up-dry.
So, I pull us all close and I ink us into a river.
We are floating and flowing,
the current is flawless, the rippling ushers us around rocks and debris.
I surrender to all the flaws, the exacting, and the tired housed within my body.
My shortcomings lost and found within the swirling mystery.