What serves you has changed, echoic commands are your only incantations now—
repeat to yourself everything that’s never worked, try it again see if it fits,
squeeze yourself into its celebration of letting you go, you have a tendency to show concern to pictures of things that never lived and never died
you break at the thought of fire, mostly because you’re always so cold and you welcome heat, even if it burns
the world is turning in your favor, and because you are who you are and we are who we are, we love thinking ourselves incapable,
it’s easier to hide, to clean the house or re-arrange the refrigerator than it is to file away your success in the undernails of your knowing
success scares you, because with success comes a thorn to produce it comes with waking up, it comes with a contract to obligation not the sleepy lids of immunity
