A Billion Burning Dreams

Dear Anxiety, You can’t drive a knife into my heart by stabbing me in the back. I’ve been living off secrets and panic attacks, cuticles and paranoia. Biting the skin from my bottom lip — banana peels strewn across my path — to keep my self-love bruised. Begging. This David and Goliath match has set everything on fire and neither of us is willing to let the smoke settle to see what’s worth saving. Old Friend, you have been living on cinder and kindling, yearning for the taste of kindness, for the blood of your sibling. Perhaps the point is to forgive instead of kill. To comfort instead of destroy. I always thought you were a monster, but now I think you’re just a boy

who was never understood. Pinocchio was made of wood and his nose grew when he lied, but he wanted

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