MY TINY BITTER MAN

i might come to terms with the fact that i may not be a ray of sunshine after all. my mind only knows the image of a tiny constipated bitter man. in every ritual. the universe cheers on this tiny man to let go of all the damn shit already and be a tiny man with some jolly, a big heart, thick skin, and some capacity for appreciation of its jokes instead. but convincing yourself of a state never guarantees the body follows. its matter over mind, the limitations are real.

but so is the urgency. i imagine this lightness only comes to you at old age when the trivialities of youth have become so distant that youre now allowed to reflect and respond with the calm objectivity of an outsider. or corpse. mortality, who knows their final hour.

i want to make the choice before resignation or death do it for me. its a beautiful, beautiful world, a shame if you arrive late or never at all. i might not know how to balance joy with other feelings, but at least i know thats a hint of the answer.

we learn in public and along the way, no matter.