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the darkest of places

Somebody explain to me why my mind keeps going to the darkest of places after I keep showing it the light over and over again.  After I have to prove it wrong over and over again.  I think it likes it there. I think it has found a cozy spot there. A place of comfort there.  In expecting the worst, it feels safe. I feel safe.  And that’s some tragic ass shit.  To feel safety in the darkest of places because that’s what feels most like home.  --- This is how beasts are made.  --- You tell her to be quiet. To be small. To be nothing but beautiful. Like a porcelain doll picking a thorn from her toe with golden locs coming out of her head. And when she grows up to be what you consider the opposite of that. Loud. Angry. Sloppy. Black. Proud. Joyful. Free. Free. Free.  You will pretend not to see. How the world kisses the air she walks by. How breathtaking she is.  -- At least now I can see the spiral downward begin to form. And I can see myself getting on the ride. Almost excited to join. Li

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