Each sip a reminder
to old honky tonks
and the elder presence
of almighty grace
to know my locks
are still jet black
and old bullies have gone silver
into grandparents
or mothers and fathers
or lonely old souls that chose to do it alone
and I’m doing it again.
Proof,
when you notice me.
Looking like stalls,
when the rotary was
advanced technology.
It’s all so different now.
I rather beg than forgive.
I’ve forgiven myself so I forgave every other soul before I tried for myself.
Beating the devil and not ending up at the end of the bottle but right in my niche.
Somewhere forgiven
and unabiding
in yuletide for Creation.
And somewhere in that,
I choose to function
and remain autonomy
into choosing life
and health
and
destiny
just to say,
I wanted to write about my day everyday since I’ve had em
And now I do it almost everyday.
Giving myself what I need
with no greed,
just abundant in the fact
I really have the feeling to write all the time.
Even in keys looking like I’m texting a letter, I suppose I am.
The Sender sounded in resilience, I am who I am and that’s just the ordinary part.
I’m still seeking extraordinary.
petrichor - archive 