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The night is friendly
    if you've lived the day kindly
And after years of abuse
I'm still the one ending up feeling guilty
And wondering if he was right
And this was all just in my head
Sometimes
Poetry
so frequently
is like prayer
to me
the wind reads me well
I'm a nomad of time
a pulse like a prophecy
whispers myself to me
its in the practice of little devotions
that everything we dig up
can be turned into treasure
or at least a map of where to
or where to not find it
i still have an old memory of my grandfather who lived his life at such a fast pace moving between countries, coming and going from relationships tell me that he wished he paced himself and that he hoped i would have it in me to pace myself. to slowly dig up my treasure with consistency.

i reflect now at how consistency is build through little acts of discipline and devotion who knows if what i want will ever be but i am happy in heading towards it and the optimism is enough to keep seeing the bird in the sky and appreciating the puddles that form.
I weep with my little pains huddled
like toddlers around me.  
They were so sweet
in their patience with me, waiting
until I was ready. Now I hold them,
their tiny faces giddy with excitement, as I abandon
the ground of functionality for a wilderness
quiet at their side
working through your feelings
It will never return
Every single day a wish sets sail
But nothing ever floats back
The constant churn of the tide
Is a clockwork peril
A nomadic timekeeper
Telling us over and over
And over again
The time has come
To look elsewhere
Inspired by Barbara R Maxwell's poem "The Ocean":
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5062223/the-ocean/
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