Props to visitors for not norming mysticisms.
Conditioning is no picnic. I’d risk ignoring victory
if it got toxicity to stop. I’m stoic if my mirror’s stoic
(not oft)—I mimic it, groping. My form is my commons.
Sick doctors trip, voicing, “Skin’s minor koi pond stinks.”
I find synonyms for insisting, “I’m opposing!” Not condoning?
Moving into “no,” “for good”? Skin is prison stock.
Proving sordid. Dirty coin. If I root my scion, forging spring,
my prognosis is off—I’m citing gods. I’m stooping.