Fear not the poet’s cryptic form or rhyme.
Different is good
graphs mean nothing now.
PTSD / doesn’t happen to me / that’s for soldiers / and survivors of abuse
so I seek the balance point / to speak my truth – and listen
oh, I know they are out there somewhere…
clearly the work of a child, not a master painter.
today I find myself on pause; at least I have been found.
The shoes, while fitting poorly, won me praise, but winning praise becomes a daily chore
lux perpetua luceat eis
sometimes changes /
seem random /
and without purpose. /.
those are the hardest to make. Truly.
Nail me. I’ll nail it.
I’ll dream it’s somehow magic
– not let science steal my joy
crossed wires start fires
peace can still be found but you have to look for it.
It’s good to get rid of the darkness.
sometimes poetry requires digging.
Today I live and stand in my own story.
sometimes it helps to think a clever theorem was at work
speechless wonder at the brutality of it all.