My vocabulary is running dry with words that have been overused and verses that have been turned around. I have grown tired of myself again chasing the same dream that haunts more like a nightmare. My face has lost all beauty and I blame the air I breathe for casting me into the ugly duckling. I am suffering from self-hatred and I know what this kind of abuse can do but I am treading on swamp lands with gators at my toes. My hair hangs low covering reddened skin that the light from the sun would surely burn and scar what may still have a chance to heal. High hopes are getting old but just as I am ready to toss them out the window, something grabs my arm holding me back.
November 12, 1999