Screw, the perfect verb

Screw, the perfect verb.

Screw the building committee in my head conspiring to take me down.

Screw the cap on my enthusiasm that sits there like a judging parent, never letting me feel fully joyful.

Screw the idea in my head that I’m lost. Not good enough.  Dull of mind.

Screw the fleshy layers of dust that sit there all cocky daring me to take a swipe.

Screw distance, because I’m getting close.


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