Every day I wake up, feel the softness of the bedsheets on my skin, hear birds chirping outside and I lay there with my eyes closed and ruminate about the day ahead, I feel a sensation of glee wash over my face and tingling in my hands and feet because I am thankful, thankful that day and every day indeed to nature, god and life itself thankful yes, that I am not a nigger.
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Every day I wake up, I feel the comfort of mindless sleep slip from me as bits and pieces of my head arm like mouse traps.
I may have ended up worshiping the notion of sleeping through a history of insomnia, too. It's hard to enjoy being awake when it feels awful and it's the default for days at a time unendingly.
Ę̵̚x̸͎̾i̴͚̽s̵̻͐t̷͐ͅe̷̯͠n̴̤̚t̵̻̅i̵͉̿a̴̮͊l̵͍̂ ̴̹̕D̵̤̀e̸͓͂t̵̢͂e̴͕̓c̸̗̄t̴̗̿ï̶̪v̷̲̍é̵͔
Ę̵̚x̸͎̾i̴͚̽s̵̻͐t̷͐ͅe̷̯͠n̴̤̚t̵̻̅i̵͉̿a̴̮͊l̵͍̂ ̴̹̕D̵̤̀e̸͓͂t̵̢͂e̴͕̓c̸̗̄t̴̗̿ï̶̪v̷̲̍é̵͔
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