a poem
I‘m certain that I’m alone.
How does someone this lost
make a place so formerly
familiar their home?
Perhaps to swear there’s
something there, something more.
Something that keeps the dazzling
waves crashing into the shore.
Something I see in license plates
and analog clocks.
I see it after getting
…
a poem
Everything is out of my hands,
yet I carry the weight of the world
as if it’s a jug of water.
My hands are cracked, weak,
chipped nail polish points to
the hope that has been lost.
Who designed life to be so bleak?
I dream, someday soon,
that I…