The Imperfect Christmas Cut Out Cookie
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I spill my thoughts out onto the lines of my journal
Yet the words I read are foreign
As though I’m editing my thoughts
Like the perfect cut out cookie on Christmas
Except I don’t feel like the perfect cookie
I feel more like the burnt one that doesn’t even get added to the “to be frosted” pile
I came to realize that there is beauty in this state
It’s almost like the chosen one
Because its the first cookie to get noticed
So I re read my spilled thoughts & start to read in between the lines
I go further, reading outside the lines
Understanding the context and complexity that accompanies my words
Understanding the internal emotion that possesses me to confess to my journal
The more I feel into this state, the more I come to know how I’ve gotten to the state of the burnt Christmas cut out cookie














