I have a long way to go. I do wish to sit and write. 7, 30, 50 poems a day, but the world will not allow it.
So much rushed inconsistent thoughts, no wonder why I never make much sense. But this is simply all I have to offer.
Now if you find a part of yourself here, a line or two that felt familiar, a remembered thought or memory, then I’ll take anything.
As long as I find more humans that will make me feel less alone, will make my thoughts feel less alienated. Then all my messy poems just might not be that disastrous.