
I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
— Walt Whitman, from “Song of Myself”

you don’t have to end up with people who self destruct
go find a lover who will never leave
fear of abandonment, self hate, and discontent
will go away when you let yourself grieve
and forget about me, forget about me, forget about me