Under the fire of the great moon's fullness I list
what it is time to release.
The ember of my pen scrawls across the ivory paper,
itemizing traits too long allowed
to chafe my heart with their unfittingnesss.
even necessary to who I was then—
this thorny carapace no longer serves,
nor is it the face I wish to present
to the world.
So onto the paper goes prickliness,
then joined by the mask of aloofness and superiority.
And when the list is complete,
I fold the paper and light it with the fire of that moon.
And I confine the ashes
to the cleansing waters of a flowing river.
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