The thing is

I am made up of terrible jokes,

some I make up on my own

others were forced upon me in the cruel kinds of ways

that happen to everybody.

I still feel like I am starting over,

I still feel like every day should be a new life that I could be living,

but I sit with my colors

and I do not use them.

If only fate were so kind as to ring the doorbell,

if only those red threads of what some call destiny or at least something close

weren’t also the kind that you can trip over, bruise your knee over,

find yourself in a collapse over.

——

I am trying.

I say this everyday.

I am trying.