If Life Was a Food Fight

My critical eye takes in my form in the long oak-framed mirror as I tuck the billowy white top into my jeans. On principle, I don’t wear white. “White” is my lunch, make-up, and pit stains on display for the world to see. It’s impracticality, stamped with an expiration date.

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Wandering through Wonderland

Time. The word ticks and tocks loudly in my mind as I look back on my 32 years. I can see the chances I wasted from fear-based reasoning and opportunities never given despite my best intentions. I mourn the talents that never blossomed into full potential and the dreams I squashed because of other’s preconceived…

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