I have this messiness that I carry around with me, like Charles Shultz’s Pig-Pen. I feel incomplete and unkempt.  

Failure feels buried deep within my bones like a birthmark. It feels like it was written on my birth certificate and will mark my headstone.

Sometimes it feels like I will drown in it. But the truth is also that I just need to stand up to realize the pool is ankle-deep, and nobody gives a shit about what my hair looks like.

Enough said.

365 Days is my personal practise of putting out words and images each day.


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