Can't explain
Why the ink flows easier
With depression/anxiety onset.
Turning out poems
At what seems
A manic rate
For me.
For me.
Reaching parts
Of my soul
Locked tight.
Never sure
Who or what
Will emerge.
Often
Not understanding
Other’s reactions.
Whether
In joy or sorrow.
Wishing
I knew
Why.
Only seeing
String of letters
On the computer screen
Or written page.
Always
Questioning my ability
Never believing
It's good enough.
Therisa © 2009
1 comment:
When my physical pain reaches about-to-scream levels, I write like a maniac. I think that it might be the universe way of letting us know that although things sort of suck for us, we still have gifts to share... we are more than enough.
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