I want to think I can hold on to small prides.
But even then, these I feel as if I have recanted.

That nagging pebble in my shoe type of feeling,

That I've seen worse,
but that sure don't mean
this is any good.

Thoughts of a pale "others".
Then thoughts of alterity.
And then: vessels, nests, twig by twig.

Just twig by fucking stupid worthless twig.