Barely writing for
half a decade
suddenly can't stop.
Yet more thoughts tumble fleetingly
some repeating, 
some growing, never knowing,
From whence they came.

Patterns formed over years,
highlighting my deepest fears.
Ugly thougnts always  near
Not enough. Never kind enough, strong enough, clever enough, awake enough.

Bad habits stick
Consistency was never a habit. 
Queue self loathing,
Thoughts roaming,
Sometimes i'm groaning...
Am I not over this now?