When I woke up this morning
I had the choice
of feeling like I was in my mother's womb
or facing the cold, unforgiving world.

Most days,
I feel sick,
weak,
and angry.

I'm tired of being angry at the world
for my sins.
I'm tired of feeling
like somebody else.

Lately,
I've had these little pockets of peace;
10 or 15 minutes sometimes
when the world feels right,
and I feel like myself again.

And at the end of it all,
I suppose it's cathartic,
but I've still grown
to hate and love those little moments.