My truth matters. To me. It shapes the interiors of my heart and I have to live with symmetry. Life’s a symphony when you lead with congruence. Intuition. No loneliness when discernment is safeguarded. I’ll suffer against the whispers of doubt and rage of fear that tries to unravel me. Only way you’ll unravel me is if you kill me first and do an autopsy. And even then my spirit would have been evacuated by then, unburdened by the corpse that once housed me. My truth is stored in the celestial clouds. Blessed be the divine.

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