On what is perhaps the most puzzling experience of my life, I have, for the most part, chosen to remain silent. There have been times when it felt like I was actually swallowing my thoughts. But this comes at a price. Suppressed feelings and cogitation tends to gestate. It grows into something else. Self-immolating bitterness is one of the outcomes I've tried to avoid. That has tumour written all over it. Alternatively, these thoughts could morph into something beautiful; Superman's diamond wrought from a lump of coal comes to mind. But one thing's for sure, whatever the hell is growing inside me has to eventually be pushed out. Once it arrives, I'll leave it to others to decide if its metaphorical journey into daylight was through my metaphorical vaginal canal or my metaphorical ass.
