Self Healing
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be as cold as the ice cubesand i still won’t freezebarefoot stay on the same groundthe mountain’s peak meant to be climbedwhile life is an intermittent riverit will rewet again somehow—bravery
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wednesday’s gray dawnthe birds stay on the ground—silently it’s no longer tea for twoand some bird dropping into my cupthe swear words fall from my mouthand they scatter—leaving me behind with nothing but the rain falling
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Bittersweet times in life are like a bucket of roses—beautiful, carefully picked with love, though the fingers are swollen from their thorns. As if nothing could stop the desire for beauty, not even the pain it causes. Stubbornness.