I guess I’ve been looking for validation in all the wrong spaces. All that ever mattered was if I loved myself enough to surrender to the ecstatic bliss of creation. Whether I was passionate about my pen hitting the notebook, or my body covered up by our twisted morning sheets. I looked for validation in expectant ways only to become sour when the taste that was displayed on my palate didn’t match what the chef made. So now I surrender, to my destiny and my worth. Reminding myself that as long as I love me, there is no form of validation that will satisfy me, for an outside perspective would limit me, to the karmic debts of a tethered tree. I am free to be me. In my quest for self love, no longer torturing my tongue with expectations of a mind that’s numb.