There was a time when I loathed the fact that my hands were not as stiff as my father's and the actuality that I could not woo without limping a deceivingly harmless ball. But, as reality had it, loathing -- and concealing -- those seemingly bit-sized personal details only made my disillusions blurrier. The awkwardness of every moment hidden behind a crumbling put-on always felt like eons in front of a rowdy circus crowd. I had them amazed; but, most of the time, I felt like they were just snorting, secretly and loudly.
So, I decidedly left the carnival -- my self-made roller coaster. The crowd had enough one-sided, perverted entertainment and I had, too. I could not forever keep "pet peeve-ing" my arse.
Now, I think I am breathing more air -- light and overt air. Though I have never seen my shadows as unswerving as any man's ruler, my passageways can finally clearly breathe in -- and out. I don't mind anymore the mouths that babble and the eyes that gawk. After all, their cages are rusty and what they have are mere piths too trifling for substance.
Everyone has their own credo. Mine says I have never been incorrigible, only once deluded.
