Poetry is the string
         looping through and
         weaving out
the needling pain

It knits a beautiful
         patchwork, coated with
         colorful patterns
our fingers trace

threads of our lives
         create designs
a shining::
shimmering::
or dulling
our emotions blend.

let the pain from my past
be the ink that bleads from my body
onto paper

turning pain into power
turning feelings into words

elated
a flying feeling
soaring
soft and light
cottony

life is long
but you are forever
raining hope
upon the weary

fly high, clouds
and we'll fly with you

I am a warrior.
Stronger than her demons.
Braver than the darkness.

to bleed numbly
into the abyss
of thoughtful
and thoughtless fears
I am full
of emptiness