Common and folk
are atavistic words
bloated with hurt
I never wanted them to have.
That might be a lie.
Once very drunk,
I mimicked a working class accent,
stung three of the nicest people I'd ever met.
They forgave me,
and shunned me,
the desperate, rejected lover,
jealous,
bullied,
and miserable.
To master the chaos of oneself. (Nietzsche)
