Day 112 of 365 days of relinquishing control: the point

What if the point is to take the pain we feel and transmute it into something beautiful?

To express our pain, to sing it, paint it, scream it, rap it?

To challenge our pain with sleeves of tattoos and crazy hair and colorful, frayed clothes?

To translate our pain into poetry, prose, a magical world of dragons and wizards?

To dance it out, scribble it out, shake it out, play it out?

What if that’s the point?

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Some days, I paint. Other days, I write. And rap. And tell stories. And do comedy. And doodle. And [attempt to] bake. And, one week out of every month, I merge with my sofa and sob about mortality and things like the existence of air and how we can't live without it and how utterly claustrophobic that is to consider. I'm relatively particular. And this is a place for me to share ALL the quirks.

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