Write

1:20 AM and pounding it out. My currency is words; I draw the world with language. Breathe in, breathe out. Emotional volleys arcing through the air, targeting me in their searing blaze—they fade into dim sparks. They are held at bay because I refuse to obey the twisted logic of enforced guilt. I know who I am and I do my job. I do it well. This moment of victory will remain aloft; it soars into the light of the sun. The clouds are my friends and they shield me from harm. The wind carries my weight and cleanses my skin. We fly away from you and your foul slings and arrows. They fall back onto yourself. I will not torture myself with your barbs. I will not allow myself to harm myself by allowing your toxic worry to infect me. No credence. I fling you away, I brush you away, your words are dust and crumble and dissipate.