Tolerance

To tolerate oneself, nay, to love oneself, is the goal. A glass of wine helps me to start. Several glasses cause me to fall into self-love. When I wake up in the morning I realize that I've tolerated too much of what is bad, loved too much divisiveness, and this causes me disgrace.

Then, in time, I feel better. I feel alive without rancor. My heart beats, and in its irregularity I find a flower, living with three imperfect petals, but so full of soft color that I cannot pluck it. I cannot pluck it in the ass.