I’m actually sitting here with a tear pouring down my cheeks and can barely see the screen. Part of my reason for starting this site was to have a place to talk about my pain. It has been sixteen years (!) since I have lived more than a week of a pain-free existence.
moistly brushed almost un-touched a moment that takes forever to arrive goes quickly.
lifted like incense smoke rising slowly lazing on the breeze becoming infinite as it fades integrating its essence with the air the air that is all there is the air that is as abundant as love
love could be around the corner from me and i wont lie i am petrified. he’s considerate and sweet kind and he listens when i speak. he’s good looking and back in high school a good friend.
everyone remembers a time when there was more hand holding more slow dancing more love more and less violence.
What I used to do, what I used to love to do, was write poetry. Not poetry in the traditional, Emily Dickenson sense of the word, nor was it quite Def Jam material, though I am in that book they made, Bum Rush the Page.