In that quiet moment, on the edge of vulnerability, is the most visceral in writing. Gingerly, I type out the beautiful, ugly truth and feel an immediate sense of relief and then I’m guarded – is there someone there? I protect my selves as though they were a sort of holy grail, some touchstone; whose revelation would bring the world into mass panic. In the flesh again, I know it is only my fragile ego that has suffered a moment of hysteria.


About onepercussive

I'm 48 haven't stopped moving since 2. Born in New Orleans, but have traveled the world. Please look for my upcoming work Coalfire Diaries. View all posts by onepercussive

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