Corners
I keep looking around corners to see if I’m still me.
That I’m okay.
I always approach a corner like a ninja to avoid unnecessary shocks or catastrophic emotions that would be difficult to unfeel.
Sometimes corners look innocent, a perfect seam merging two paths into a buttery, harmonious edge.
Those are the corners I used to like.
But lately I see a lot of edges made of my favorite fictitious metal — adamantium — which cuts me so deep I will bleed out before the paramedics arrive.
That’s morbid.
I’m sorry.
I don’t know why I am talking about bleeding out from a corner made of a fictitious metal.
I merely want to point out that some corners have buttery edges and others don’t.
It’s obvious. Sharp edges are there to hurt you.
Avoid that corner, it will cut you, go another way.
Soft corners seem so easy. I can just tip-toe arond them leaving all that other stuff I didn’t want to bring with me to the other side.
So I cheer myself on with Issa Ray-sized mirror affirmations. And the world around me cheers me on with thumbs up, flame and heart emojiis.
