I wrote this poem two years ago. Two years?
What a different head space I was in.
I am deeply grateful that I am in a different place now. But I love that even then, when I was despairing and angsty and self-destructive, I knew I was the whole entree. I am still the whole entree.
And you are, too. Remind yourself of that often.
Unless, of course, you are the one person I originally wrote this poem about. Then, good riddance to you, and I am glad you are no longer present in my story.
Happy Friday, y’all.