If I wanted to make people more beautiful, I would go to beauty school. Since I wanted to make my poems more beautiful, I went to poetry school.
Believe it or not, my logic was full of flaws.
My Master's program added little beauty to my life, and brought out my ugly: pettiness and paranoia; jealousy and bitterness; weakness and submissiveness; sensitivity and cynicism; depression and defensiveness.
Sure, there might have been a way for me to cheer myself on, my throat rough and bloody. And I could have sipped honey and repeated until I made it through.
Instead, I stopped flailing in that sea of so many words.
I sank and sank, then slowly rose to the silent surface.
Seduced by a skyless world, I floated away, mute.
Beautiful.
