Championship Sunday

Wrestling with those internal voices,
Threatening to throw some shade their way
Or maybe go so far as to ghost them.

It’s not like stuff is all that serious,
We all have stuff to deal with.
I’m just tired of the noise.

Phantoms masking as confident and self-assured,

The kind of voices that hear drama,
Start drama,
Relish in the bull that swirls around.

Sometimes mine,
Sometimes the dominion of others,
Neither that I should ever own.

I’ll keep going
The chatter will fade into the distance
With plenty of shade and only the friendly ghosts.

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