Poem: When Your Comfort Is Shook

A poem about recognising your blowouts. Learning to move on.

I call myself a privileged mess.
It took me years to find myself - and
yet, all the while, I was never lost.

That kind of luxury not only writes white -
it’s dressed in beige, it knows
instinctively where to find the cream.

One can atone, without ever needing to
fully apologise. One can remain content
and absolutely changed as well.