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don't tell me i was born free
Once upon a time,

I cringe and grimace and laugh and snort at everything written here, but I slip into wonder of where my sense of passion went. Before, I could go for pages about the most mundane bullshit and actually mean everything I wrote -- now, it's a fill-in-the-blank ad-lib in order to fulfill some obligatory status post that is try-hard, that is layered in skin upon skin of irony, that I try to make sound witty but fuck it all if it isn't trite and meaningless. Maybe I've seen shit, man. Maybe it's just the stepping stone into 30-something world weariness.

Abort mission, and now here I stand before Good God and the Majesty of the World and His Light, and all I can think about is the concept of penance and doing right by man. Luke 13:3. I'll get it right one day.

I became a professional somewhere between then and now, still teetering on the edge of combined aforementioned Good God and not giving a damn. I have a man that I stand by; we'll probably have house, home, and fat children after the wedding. I have it all, but here we go again, me being some bullshit free spirit that for reasons unknown to me people used to worship, and I weave through the spokes of my now-adult life on the verge of breaking the wheel. I'm not a bad person, just a person. I am too bitter.

I hate not being in control, but here's to me a toast born of cynicism, repentance, and the love of all humankind.


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