The list I built these two years past
in review today I see perchance.
and yet newly I have secrets…
secrets that could burn.
Words won’t just come
now I sit down to write for
somehow I am not lost,
neither hurt nor bruised.
I am not deep in crushes
light and free, nor whoring
passions bright and gay.
I sit in soft soliloquy
in the white space awhirl,
brave and unsure, forward
yet shy in blushes and smiles
knowing I’m okay either way
but open to chance and curious
I meet the new day flushed.
Is this what hope is?
I write in the dim lit
of the sun softly leaving,
sway to soft sounds
melodically pink.
I am the little girl longing
after having lost so much.
What am I thinking?
