As I reach the bottom
of a yet another cup of yesterday's coffee,
I begin to quiver
like a drawn arrow.
All atwitter with thought,
overclocked,
firing on all cylinders,
I set about
laying out
some eloquent dissertation on my blunted affect
or crippling self doubt
or other such complaints.
Some sympathetic story
sans self-esteem
seems to be my wheelhouse.
What if I flipped the lid and said
that I feel okay about myself?
That I'm not the worst,
and people would care if I was gone.
That I've gained
more than I've lost,
despite losing
a lot.
That I can be resilient
even if I don't realize it right away.
Would I be ill-received?
Hot
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I found a little peace somewhere between free and incarcerated I found a little peace somewhere slathered in paint and wanderlust... -
The white panther pads Alight against the grey of winter Stalking through the cemetery Walking there alongside me The white panth... -
Two ravens sit atop fence posts in a long, low-hilly field. Exchanging harsh words, they argue for a little while about bird-things of lit...
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Every morning as the sun crests Over the hoity-toity housing up the hill I choke one down. You could set a clock by it. A bitter...
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A white feline appears from behind a gravestone, and saunters toward me unafraid. Affectionately it rubs against my left foot. It slin...
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Music plays as I hold momentarily while waiting for a representative It loops over and over plucking out a never-ending refrain as a r...
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Six of one, half-dozen of the other; The hours creep along, the sharp edge of a century. Left by the wayside, my ambitions, for a...
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