I am yam which I scramble to secure enough to string my anchor to an earth that feels docilely cemented in such state as to be “permanent” or otherwise more settled than the somes of my committee. #SoulCollage®️

The pop of my I is that EYE-ing my mind is like sitting privilege style in the sweet back seat of an epic ride, listening to the tunes the driver provided and imaging a nearish future where we are so identified as to be merged soul source style.

I don’t know how far up my own shit creaked canal I am because the scent of earth and mold suits me down to the darling delightment of astounded glee.

It doesn’t make scents if you use words to vulva over your masculingering slime trail of asshat juice.

As though it would literally kill an aspect of ego to come through, and acknowledge accountability is banter and lit by the gas of ongoing meat with more power attacks, snacking on subtle aggressions with overt exchange of non-violent play pretence initiated at the example of witnessing yourself.

I am the monster we accuse you of being.
“and I do believe in god, because I keep running across, all these fine women, with low self-esteem. You know what I mean”-Atmosphere