A life of writing
Is a marathon
Not a sprint
No one knows
Where it ends
Either way
9.28.19
I’m here
Take my hand
I can’t stop
Your pain but
I’ll hold you
While you cry
9.25.19
Celebrate the good days with a ring
Remember the trauma with a drink
Love yourself despite everything
9.24.19
Life goes on
So we go with
To see the road
Even leave it
9.18.19
sixth draft finished
hand-written notes
in margins, in purple
filled binder, in hopes
a kid threw a desk today
I pointed out he was mad
he made another kid sad
because they were fat and slow
asked him why and he blamed
everyone else, even the victim
so he flipped a table instead
of asking himself why am I