A slow return to writing

Small steps

I barely wrote any poems this past month.

I have felt full.

But unable to put pen to paper.

The world around me wants writing.

I will.

Slowly.

Here are my poems:

Move into the future 

 

A kind person 

has no place 

here.  

 

Antiquated 

ideals dry out 

(die) 

lest you breathe 

them into this life.  

 

And yet you 

refuse to see 

 

#yourpurpose  

Stare into the past 

 

Who was I then? 

It seems true 

that regret 

follows you 

 

and every thought 

is eggs 

beaten in 

broken glass 

 

eaten 

spat out 

eaten 

and spat out.  

 

These thoughts  

hold you down. 

 

And you 

find yourself 

#fruitless