Growth (Page 6)

A Mother’s Day (a poem)

I live on land that is not mine.
Her people, long departed,
left not a trace.
Their legacy, a world in balance.

I am not like them.

Sometimes, it eludes me
when I’m not feeling
anything really.

TW: Depression

I flay myself
on the altar of art,
cut down to the bone,
break every last part.

I write it on paper,
type it into my phone,
share it with the world,
and feel utterly alone.

Creating art is an intentional act
of learning about oneself
and the world around us.
Art is…

“It is what it is” applies to:

…a rainy day.
…when you forget the lyrics to a song.
…getting a hole in your sock.

If we use immoral means to achieve peace,
will we ever truly have it?

Incredible stories come from people of all ages.

He has a way of
exploiting my weakness

Like every fool that has lived,
I tried to ignore, move on,
forward.

I never said it would be easy.