Holding myself accountable for things not turning out the way I wanted
always required a tad more honesty than I could muster at any one time,
like an attempt at the mundane touted as an elaborate kintsugi exercise,
except that the pottery was scorched and the gold turned out to be pyrite.
Anyway, I usually felt like I was never doing better than in a hospital bed,
involuntarily eluding the impending life in the medically induced abeyance
of an as yet unaware newborn.
hidden pilcrow 