Hives

Sometimes I honestly think I'm growing as a writer and then I end up back where I started. I've always hated waiting for someones approval. It reminds me of my entire childhood. I've finally slayed the big ones it's the small bites that still hurt. They nip at my ankles like dust mites. And when I look down to access the damage the red whelps sting as if enraged. Somehow no matter how hard I've tried to purge it the bitterness towards rejection flows through my veins.