Sometimes we got to celebrate sometimes we are mourning. This is my rejoicing being of poetry responding to a poem…. the first one, after what was the greatest mystery of my life. How to be myself. I find Poetry to be perhaps the greatest tool to share experiences through art I can use. At least until I finish writing. This is my identity celebrating a resounding defeat of fear, pain, Vice… and everything that I held myself back with because my health did not enable self regulation.
Here is my reflection on what it means to see who I was seeking but couldn’t put to words. Here is my core of whatever I am saw and felt as I wrote as a thank you and just now realized I was something that experiences life like a possession that I care after and can protect. To actually enjoy every…
moment again.
Do you sense that part? Would you write down what that is? Take a moment or you will surely loose the opportunity…
My response:
Thank you for helping me how to continue to see the world positively and appreciate what is. The things we see: are ourselves? A world blind to this is a place I’ve sheltered and weather a storm. Rookie of every hour. Sage of each
Dance of c on flicT.
What I do you help me be: the only way. Friend of my core self, when poetry happens: it is and sees itself.
? …glorious vision: you: it is: you see?
